


darling, you give love a bad name

by snowcaplou



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Childhood Friends, Bottom Louis Tomlinson, Fluff and Angst, Forced Marriage, Forest Sex, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Miscommunication, Mpreg, Pregnant Louis Tomlinson, Shotgun Wedding, Small Towns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29583498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowcaplou/pseuds/snowcaplou
Summary: “Harry,” Louis says again. He’s swallowing down tears that have already pooled in his irises-- he’s cried enough today. He needs to get this off of his chest, he needs Harry to know what’s going on.Harry nods, encouraging  him to speak, but Louis is sure that he would not be so calm if he knew what was coming. Nothing could accurately prepare him, though,  for what leaves Louis’ lips next.“I’m pregnant.”ORLouis' has been best friends with Gemma all his life in this stupid little town he's grown to hate. What happens when, after one night together with his best friend's brother, he falls pregnant? Surrounded by small minds and conservative cultures, Louis has to deal with parents that demand they do the "right" thing. Get married before anybody finds out.Alternately known as "The Shotgun AU"
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 31
Kudos: 256





	darling, you give love a bad name

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this has been a crazy journey and as always I have so many people to thank for giving me such a wonderful support system. To the baby chat-- Ris (@falsegoodnight), Sarah (@soldouthaz), Hayley (@bruisedhoney), and Alex (@cowboyharrystan), you guys are amazing. Thank you. 
> 
> Thank you Ris for your thoughtful notes and beta'ing. 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this! 
> 
> The title of this story is from "You Give Love a Bad Name"- Bon Jovi

The first time Louis Tomlinson stepped into the Styles house, he could not have expected that he would be walking into the same foyer thirteen years later with news that would change the fabric of his life forever. 

Louis, at just ten years old, could never have conceived that in the same house that captivated his little heart-- from the sheer size alone-- that he would have to walk the all too familiar marbled floors with a shaking heart and what seemed like earth-shattering news. Well, to be fair, it _was_ earth-shattering news to him. At twenty-three, he was living a nightmare he never thought possible because today, he was not here to see his best friend Gemma. Instead, fate would have it that he was here for another person who just a month ago unwittingly wove himself into Louis’ future.

He can imagine where Harry was without even having to look for him. He knew he would be laid out back up on the pool lounge chair in the backyard listening to music while his father was off to the side of the deck, grilling up Sunday dinner. 

Gemma doesn’t know he’s here. Nobody does, really, but after thirteen years it was not uncommon for the Styles family to find Louis lounging around their home unannounced-- he hopes that alone will shield him from unnecessary questions. When he passes the kitchen, he sees Anne adding ice cubes into her pitcher of sweet tea, and before Louis can contemplate whether or not to announce his presence, she’s looking up with the familiar welcoming grin.

“Louis, darling! I had no idea you were coming, Gems didn’t tell me-- here, do you want a drink? I was about to bring Harry out a glass just now,” she offers. Louis is about to shake his head and decline the offer, he’s here on a mission and he needs to tell Harry before he chickens out, but he realizes quite quickly that his throat has gone drier than the asphalt on Main Street during the August heat. 

“Please,” he nods, moving forward to take a glass from the cabinet. It strikes him at the moment the familiarity of the kitchen that he’s known for more than half of his life, and how in a few moments everything could change for him. He could be losing everything. 

Anne pours him a cup before heading out, “C’mon sweetie, take a dip in the pool. I think Gems is showering so God himself only knows when she’ll be down,” she says on her way out. Her hand moves to linger on the glass door to see if Louis is going to follow her out, and when he makes the motion to step outside, she returns both hands on her glass pitcher. 

“Make sure to close the door, don’t let the air out,” she calls to him as she walks over to her husband. He wishes he could say he was listening 

Louis sees him first. He’s spread out on the chair with his face planted in a pillow, and if he didn’t fidget just slightly when he heard his mother’s voice, Louis could have assumed that he was napping in the sun. His skin had taken on a dark gold shade after so many afternoons in the Tennessee sun while his hair had changed to a lighter, caramel brunet. He didn’t look much different from the last time that Louis had seen him. 

Louis knows it’s absurd, but he cannot bring himself to take a step beyond the heavy sliding glass doors. He’s letting the air out, and if Anne could see him, she would politely remind him again to close it. _We’re not cooling off the entire town!_ his own mom would say when he would forget to close a window in his own room. 

When Louis finally does take the step outside, he has complete tunnel vision. He sees Harry, and he’s ready to march to him and demand a private audience when he hears Anne speak again. 

“Oh, Harry! Why don’t you take Louis upstairs and get him some shorts to wear in the pool?” At the mention of Louis’ name, Harry’s head snaps up in understandable confusion. 

“Louis? Hey!” Harry’s voice goes down an octave when he sees the man in front of him. He’s quick to jump out of his seat and stand at his full height, “C’mon now, I’ll get you something to wear.” 

Louis can’t say much to decline the offer-- Harry’s already making his way towards him and the backdoor. 

“Gems didn’t tell me you’d be here,” he mentions as they walk back through the house, “I haven’t seen you in a while, what with me working with my dad and all this summer.” 

“Yeah, my dad told me you started doing the accounting work for the company. Momma said he was so proud,” Louis shoots back. He’s avoiding the real reason that he’s here, and he hates himself for it. The tiring anxiety of bearing the news alone was enough to make him nauseous. But then again, he’s been nauseous all day, every day, for the past few weeks. 

“Yeah, about told all the clergy that I was finally taking interest in the family business since I’ve graduated and all that” Harry clarifies, “I’ll be honest with you, Lou, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about everything since it happened, but time seems to have gotten away from me.” 

Louis knows exactly what Harry’s talking about, but the echoing hallways of the Styles’ family estate was not the proper place to have this conversation. It seems like Harry knew that too because he doesn’t push the conversation anymore until they’re standing in front of Harry’s bedroom door. 

Louis’ only been in Harry’s room a handful of times, and most of them were when he was younger and he and Gemma would hide behind the door waiting for Harry to come inside so they could jump out and scare him till he cried. 

When they walk inside, Louis notices that Harry has (thankfully) redecorated his once Power Ranger themed room into a more age-appropriate decor. The walls are still the signature Styles creme with gold trimming, but instead of a twin-sized mattress with the Red Ranger sheets, there is a queen frame with beige and white sheets. 

For a moment Louis wonders when Harry changed everything. Was it when Harry started high school and worried about bringing people over? Or did he wait until he developed his own style? 

Louis can imagine Harry for a moment researching different room aesthetics, trying to find the perfect one. If he had to put a name to it, Harry was definitely a minimalist. There was a simple desk in the corner with one picture frame, and a desk chair rolled under, and an acoustic guitar in the corner, but for the most part it was bare. 

“You can make yourself comfortable,” Harry offers, calling Louis’ attention to his pointed finger. He’s pointing to his bed frame, offering Louis what seems to be the most comfortable spot on the mattress. Louis considers it, but it seems too intimate. Like it would cross a ridiculous boundary that has no business existing in the first place. They had crossed enough boundaries a month ago. Well, crossed was an understatement. It was trampled, disintegrated, and made to never exist. 

Louis opts to walk around the spacious room, instead. There isn’t much to see, but it’s another distraction from his objective while Harry walks into his closet to find the swim shorts that he does not even want to wear. 

“So, Louis,” Harry says from inside of his closet. From where he’s standing, Louis can see Harry bent over and rummaging through a drawer, presumably to find a pair of shorts that would actually fit him. 

“Harry,” Louis interrupts, “I’m going to stop you there.” There was enough embarrassment in what he had to tell Harry that he didn’t want to relive the very night that put him in this predicament in the first place with Harry in a long drawn out conversation. 

If he could, he would go back a month ago and he would have never agreed to go to the bonfire in the first place to save him from what he was forced to say.

_“C’mon Lou. You haven’t been out in such a long time. It’s just a few of us.” Gemma had pleaded with her friend._

_Louis wishes he had been more firm when he said no, but here he was sat in front of the bonfire with his old classmates, Gemma, and oddly enough her brother, Harry. Louis wasn’t sure if he was here because they all shared mutual friends-- oh the joy of being from a small town-- or if Anne made Harry come as the Designated Driver._

_Either way, sitting across from a blazing fire from his ex while he coddled his new girlfriend was not the life-changing experience that Louis was promised when Gemma persuaded him to come out with her._

_It was the very reason that he finds himself standing up and walking out towards the dock of the lake. He thinks he’s alone till he hears the distinctive thumping of bare feet on the new summer grass._

_Louis is naive enough to hope that it’s Gemma, even though he knows she’s slowly getting crossfaded off of White Claws and Wesly’s cheap weed._

_“Louis! Wait up!” Harry’s voice calls and Louis finds himself stopping in his tracks at the sound of Harry’s commanding baritone._

_He doesn’t say anything when Harry catches up to him, but Harry is quick to fill the silence, “I didn’t know Wesly was coming, that was a really shitty thing for Corinna to do. I’m sorry, Louis.”_

_So he was being too obvious about his misery, then._

_Truth be told, Wesly and Louis hadn’t been together in close to six months, but it was the fact that he had moved on so quickly that always seemed to strike a nerve within the smaller man. He believes he has mostly moved on, but the bitterness has not yet faded with time._

_“I’m okay, Harry, you don’t need to come and check up on me. You can go back to the fire with everybody.”_

_“It wouldn’t be the gentlemanly thing to do. You shouldn’t be walking around the woods at night alone,” He answers._

Louis couldn’t blame alcohol for the events that unfolded following their conversation because he hadn’t had a drop to drink. He knew Harry hadn’t either. He wasn’t drunk off of alcohol, but the uprooted tension that had forced itself to the forefront of their conversation that night, Louis imagines, must have pushed them over the edge. 

And now here he was, watching the very same man rummage through his closet for a pair of swim shorts that Louis _still_ didn’t need. 

Harry stops moving when Louis doesn’t seek to elaborate beyond, _‘I’m going to stop you there’_ but he doesn’t dare to look up. Was it fear? Fear that Louis was going to say that he regretted their time together. 

It wasn’t completely true. Louis didn’t regret the action if he was being completely truthful, but right now he sure as hell regretted the consequence. 

“Harry--” he falters. His voice cracking reveals the emotional severity of what he’s about to say, and it has Harry up and attentive. He’s walking out of his closet with reproachful sensitivity, waiting for Louis to say what he has to say. 

“Harry,” Louis says again. He’s swallowing down tears that have already pooled in his irises-- he’s cried enough today. He needs to get this off of his chest, he needs Harry to know what’s going on. 

Harry nods, encouraging him to speak, but Louis is sure that he would not be so calm if he knew what was coming. Nothing could accurately prepare him, though, for what leaves Louis’ lips next. 

“I’m pregnant.” 

Harry stays frozen in the doorframe between his room and his closet, but his eyes don’t leave Louis for a moment. They frantically scan over his features, almost begging Louis to crack a smile and admit that this was all a farce. That Louis Tomlinson is _not_ pregnant with Harry’s child and this is another silly prank that his sister has orchestrated like when they were younger. 

But Louis cannot give him such reprise. He is as serious as a heart attack. Louis assumes that Harry needs visual proof, so he reaches in the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out the small folded ultrasound that he was just given only a few hours early. It’s grainy and it’s hard to read if you don’t know what to look for, but he crosses the distance between them and holds it out for Harry. 

“I was at the doctor’s this morning, s’why you missed me at Church,” Louis admits. 

Harry looks down at the picture, but Louis couldn’t quite figure out what was going on inside of his mind. His brows were scrunched with confliction, but his mouth was open in a small ‘-o’ shape, was it _awe_? Louis wasn’t sure. 

Harry still wasn’t saying anything, though, and it was starting to put the smaller man on edge, “Harry, please… say something. I’ve been dealing with this all day by myself.” His voice is small and quiet, but it absorbs the resounding silence that had quickly taken over Harry’s bedroom. 

“Pregnant?” Harry finally chokes out. It’s Louis’ turn to watch him, to search for any type of reaction-- positive or negative-- in his single word reaction. He looks terrified, and reasonably so, but there seems to be an all too familiar film developing under the rim of Harry’s eyes. 

Louis’ about to ask Harry clearly what he’s thinking when Harry’s eyes quickly focus on something behind him. 

“Harry I-- Oh hey, Louis.” Gemma’s voice startles Louis enough that he jerks around to see his childhood best friend standing just outside the room. “I was just about to text you to come over for dinner!” 

Louis gives her a shaky nod, “Yeah, Harry was just lending me something to wear for the pool,” he manages to squeak out. At the mention of her brother, Gemma looks at the taller man behind him and furrows her brows. She looks like she wants to say something, but decides in the last minute not to. 

“Well, I’ll be downstairs.” 

Louis turns to speak but falters when he catches sight of Harry in front of him. He’s pale and his cheeks are puffed out as if he had something stuffed in his mouth. It takes Louis mere seconds to put two and two together. 

“ _Harry!_ Get my _child_ out of your mouth!” he whisper-shouts. Harry obliges by opening his mouth and pulling the ultrasound out from where it was stuffed. 

“What the hell else was I _supposed_ to do?!” he asks as he unfolds the paper and wipes it on his shorts. Louis watches Harry meticulously like he’s trying to make sure Harry hasn’t ruined the picture. 

“Not put my baby in your mouth, maybe that’s for one,” Louis pushes. In the back of his mind, he knows he needs to get back to the subject at hand and actually figure out what they are going to _do_ about said baby in the first place. 

His internal monologue almost makes Louis miss the quiet _“our”_ correction that Harry interjects into his miniature rant. Louis catches it, though, and it stops him in his tracks. 

“Huh?” he asks.

“Our baby. I mean, that’s our baby. Not just yours,” Harry clarifies. He’s not looking at Louis anymore, he’s looking down at the ultrasound that he’s just fished from his mouth. 

Louis doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet enough to let the news really sink in for Harry. It seems too rash, too final for Louis to take it seriously. Harry hasn’t had the time like he has to sit and think about what it means that he’s pregnant. He can’t make a decision after a mere thirty seconds. 

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” is Harry’s next question. It catches Louis off guard, even though it was something he should have been expecting from the moment he received the news. 

_Does he know what he’s going to do?_ Well, no he doesn’t because the truth is, he knows he can’t do this alone. He’s not married, he doesn’t have a paying job, and he doesn’t come from the same kind of family that Harry does. 

At just ten years old, Louis knew what it meant to struggle. And he knew that it was something that his best friend could not even conceive of understanding. Being the oldest of seven, he saw his parents struggle to make ends meet. 

It left him in the same constant roundabout that left him dizzy for hours-- _if he were to keep this baby, how would he provide for it? If he didn't want to stay pregnant, how would he afford to end it? What would people say if he_ did _stop it?_

Questions like these hadn’t stopped swirling in his mind since he had been told that he was pregnant. He couldn’t ask for money, especially not from Harry. That would be completely _mortifying._ How would he be able to remain friends with Gemma knowing that he had to borrow money from her family to cover up what had happened? 

When the severity of the situation sunk in-- the fact that no matter what he _would_ have to face Harry every single time that he walked in the Styles house-- he began to feel faint. His new reality was sickening. If he kept the baby, he would have to tell people. He would have to tell Gemma that he slept with her brother. He would have to tell Anne and Des, the two people who loved him just as much as his own parents, that he slept with their son. It seemed like a betrayal of trust-- that he was genuinely risking the integrity of what he once believed was a lifelong friendship. 

If he didn’t keep the baby, he would have to carry that secret to the grave. He would have to walk into the Styles house and look Gemma in the eye and pretend that nothing happened. That he didn’t make a life changing decision without the help of the very girl who for thirteen years has acted like his personal diary. He would have to look Anne and Des in the eye and pretend like he hadn’t crossed such a simple boundary. 

Harry must have seen the panic that quickly slid across Louis’ face because he was there in seconds with both hands on the shorter man’s shoulders, “Hey hey. Listen, we can figure this out,” he assures. 

The problem is, Louis _knows_ what he would do in an ideal world, and he’s known what he would want since he can remember seeing his own mother pregnant. He wants a baby. He wants somebody to love and to take care of. He wants a baby to hold and nurture-- to raise them to be a good person with love in their hearts. 

And sure, when he had this vision he had a more traditional family with a husband, a house, and a big dog. But when he had this vision, the one thing that remained constant was the light that Louis would feel when he was holding his baby. It didn’t matter where, or when, or with who. In every scenario Louis would make up, he would always feel this warm glow of genuine adoration and pure sublimity that would overcome his senses. He knows in his heart that he wants to have this baby. 

“Harry,” he says after a moment, “I want to have this baby. And, I know this is probably not what you wanted or expected, but I am going to find a way to make this work. You can be as involved as you want, but I know this is what I’m meant to do.” 

Louis knows what he will have to do if Harry says he wants no part in this. Harry opting out of fatherhood would effectively end his friendship with Gemma. How could he bring his baby around the very man who wants no part of it? 

Harry’s shaking his head-- he’s obviously trying to shake Louis out of his trance, but he’s too stubborn to notice that Harry is trying to speak. 

“Lou,” Harry says firmly. His voice is gruff, the type of voice that a father takes on when he’s trying to knock some sense into a child. For a split moment, Louis recognizes some of Harry’s father within him, already taking charge of the situation and trying to calm him down, “Lou, now my word is my bond and with God as my witness I am telling you that I want to help you raise this baby. It took two people to make, and there will be two people raising it, I swear it.” 

It’s serious enough that Louis begins to believe him. Harry’s confession births images of coparenting for at least the next eighteen years. Louis finds himself getting lost in the misleading simplicity of it all-- shared weekends, family parties, school plays and recitals, sports games, and christmas mornings. To Louis, there is something faintly sweet about the fear of it all; it’s like a motivation to strive for such normalcy in light of their non-traditional situation. 

He wanted to give this baby the most normal life, a beautiful and comfortable childhood regardless of the fact that he and Harry were never and will never be together. 

“Harry! Louis! Come down for dinner!” Anne calls from the bottom of the staircase. 

Harry looks at Louis apologetically, “Listen, we still need to talk about this,” he whispers, “but please, I want to do this if you’ll let me.” 

Louis notices that Harry still has the ultrasound clutched in both of his hands when they move to the door, “You might want to put that away,” Louis reminds him. 

～♕～ 

Louis has had dinner with the Styles family more times than he can conceive of counting, but it was never as awkward of a time as it was tonight. He’s sitting across from Harry and next to Gemma, who has decided to completely ignore the tension that Louis feels cementing him firmly in his chair to talk about the new 24 hour diner that’s opening up down the road from Walmart. 

Louis doesn’t think much of it, and he’s guiltily letting her excited ramblings in one ear and out the other because Harry has not taken his eyes off of Louis the entire meal. Louis wants to believe that he’s just hyperfocused on Harry because of their precarious situation, but he’s sure _at least_ Anne has figured out that something’s not so peachy here. 

By the time that they’re finished dinner and cleaning, Harry’s hovering close by Louis, but nobody is saying anything. How were they so oblivious, this _couldn’t_ be normal… could it? 

Sure, he’s always known that Harry had a little soft spot for him, but _this_ was a stretch. 

_He first notices it when he’s twelve. He and Gemma have been close for two years, and they’ve been spending every possible moment in each other’s company. They’re always at her house playing their favorite games and watching their favorite barbie movies and he loves every second of it._

_It’s refreshing to have a friend that he doesn’t feel a responsibility over, even at such a young age. His sisters were sweet as pie, but he really could go a day without having to make snacks and solve disputes every five seconds. With Gemma, they were equals. They liked the same toys and they thought the same things. He was always excited to go visit her._

_He didn’t pay much mind the first, or even second time, but by the third and fourth plate of cut up fruit that Gemma’s brother had brought within his two hours at the house, he’s noticing his friend get increasingly upset._

_“Harry!” Gemma finally says, “Louis is hanging out with me. Not you!” Louis watches Harry’s shoulders visibly sag, but he doesn’t look to fight back with her. It’s almost like they’ve had this conversation before, and Harry’s having to relive it that very moment._

_He walks out of the room with a little huff, leaving Louis to search for answers from Gemma._

_“Ugh, he’s so annoying. You’re lucky you don’t have a little brother,” she mumbles. She returns back to where they were sitting on the floor doing homework._

_“He was just being nice. He’s your family, he’s your blood,” Louis tries to remind her. He could never imagine blowing up on his sissys like that. Family’s got to stick together._

_“No, you just don’t get it,” Gemma retorts._

_“What do you mean?” Louis pushes. If Louis was anything, he was smart and he was not about to let Gemma think he couldn’t understand something._

_“I can’t say, Momma said I can’t tell nobody,” she answers._

_“But you’re my best friend. You have to tell me everything. That’s the rules,” Louis says confidently._

_Gemma thinks about it for a second before relenting, “Okay, but I’m not going to be friends with you no more if you tell Momma I told you,” she warns. Louis holds out his pinky for Gemma to hold._

_“Cross my heart,” he says when they finally lock fingers._

_“Momma says that Harry likes you, but we gotta be nice about it because it’s the first time he’s ever had a crush and he’s shy.”_

_Louis scrunches his eyebrows. Harry has a crush? On_ him? _It was the first time he had ever heard somebody having a crush on him, and it was a little kid. So not fair. Besides, he knows he would never risk hurting or even losing Gemma over a stupid boy. Especially not her brother._

Louis knew that Harry’s crush never really faded away, but he had assumed up until today that it was just one of those idealized fantasies. One of those where Harry had always thought about Louis like that and had built up such an impenetrable version of who he _thinks_ Louis would be as a boyfriend that he was never really able to shake the infatuation. 

Because that’s all it was. _Infatuation._ Louis was the boy that wouldn’t give him the time of day, even when Harry had fallen into his looks during highschool. Even when he was their school's top quarterback. The star prodigy-- great grades and an even greater spiral. But to Louis, he was always and always will be: _Harry, his best friend’s little brother._

Louis wonders if he’s just hyper aware of the way Harry is reacting to him because of their secret. Nobody else seems to pay much mind-- Anne, Gemma, and Des are happily eating their dinner, blissfully unaware of the terrifying back and forth that’s going on in Louis’ head, and the clear attention that Harry is paying to Louis’ every move. 

Dinner continues on like that-- with Harry fixating solely on Louis while nobody pays much mind. Louis was sure that they would catch on eventually and ask why Harry nearly stabbed himself instead of his green beans,with a fork because his eyes were on Louis’ plate, making sure that he was eating each bite. 

When they finish dinner, Louis is in the middle of wiping down the table when Harry says, “Lou, I’ll drive you home.” Harry’s voice is loud and intentional-- he wants Gemma and his parents to know that _he’s_ going to be the one taking Louis home. It effectively prevents Gemma or her parents from offering Louis a ride and forces Louis to accept the offer at risk of sounding ungrateful or rude. 

Louis can’t say he’s mad. If they’re going to do this, they’re going to have to see each other and talk a lot more often and with their little secret remaining a secret until the foreseeable future, it’s going to be suspicious if they all of a sudden start spending more time together _without_ a purpose. 

So, when Louis finds himself in the passenger’s side of Harry’s pickup, he’s surprised that Harry is staying quiet. 

They make it about five minutes before Louis cracks, “What are you thinking?” He wanted the question to be a bit more firm-- like he was already sure of himself, but he was checking in to see where Harry was in processing the fact that their lives were rapidly changing. Instead, his voice comes out insecure and laced with vulnerability. 

Harry looks at him from the corner of his eye, and keeps one hand on the wheel, “Well,” he starts. His voice is hesitant, like he’s stringing along his sentence in his mind and deciding if it’s the right thing to say. His hesitancy validates Louis’ anxiety-- it makes him feel like he’s literally on the edge of his seat. 

“I’m thinking about how we’re going to tell our families,” Harry finally admits. There really was no better way to approach the subject no matter how hard he tried. 

The one positive that Louis has found that comes from his anxiety is that it prepares him for the worst so when Harry says something seemingly simple, he’s relieved. 

“Oh,” Louis says. He lets out the breath of air he had been holding in, “Well I was thinking we could go on and tell them after the third month. You know usually that’s when I’ll start showing and all. And it’s usually the safest time to tell people, and--” 

“Louis,” Harry cuts in, “No, I think we need to tell them now. I don’t want to keep this from my family like it’s some kind of secret I’m ashamed of. I-- I just think that this is something I’ve gotta say. I don’t want to keep this from them and it’s my opinion and all, but I don’t think you should either.” 

There are some things that Louis admired about Harry, especially in this moment, and his conviction was one of them. Louis isn’t sure how Harry was so adamant on sharing their news so soon. It doesn’t feel right to Louis, but there is one word that keeps bouncing around his head as Harry speaks. 

Shame. Is he ashamed of his pregnancy? Louis isn’t so sure he had the answer. It seems evil to consider his baby a source of shame, but then he can’t shake the feeling that _maybe_ Harry was right. Is the reason he is trying to prolong their reveal for as long as possible simply because he was ashamed of his baby? 

_No_. The thought just doesn’t sit right with him. He’s not ashamed of his baby. But… there is something that Louis is feeling akin to shame that he just could not seem to place. 

“I’m not ashamed of our baby,” Louis whispers quietly. There was a stale air ladened with tension that had enveloped the car. 

Harry slows down to spare a safe glance at Louis, “No Louis-- God, that’s not what I meant. I just don’t think we should keep this a secret. At least not from our parents. You don’t have to tell your siblings, or even Gemma. But our parents. I just… I feel like they deserve to know. They can help.” 

“Harry-- how can they help? They can’t carry the baby _for me_ . They can’t take care of the baby _for me_ ,” Louis reasons, “And besides, what are they even going to say about this. I just... I don’t know if it’s the best option right now.” 

Harry pauses for a moment before pulling off to the side of the road to turn completely and face Louis. “Is _that_ really your biggest worry? What people are going to say?” he asks. 

And it’s not meant to come off as aggressive as it does, but considering what Louis has gone through in the last twelve hours alone, he’s understandably sensitive to the small inflection in Harry’s tone.

After a beat of silence that Harry takes as Louis’ inability to put together a reasonable response he whispers, “You say you’re not ashamed of the baby, and I can believe that. But maybe what you’re really ashamed of is the pregnancy.” His voice is gentler this time, but the truth behind his assumption feels jagged and sharp. Louis drops his eyes from Harry’s to turn and look out the passenger window. 

Harry doesn’t push, but Louis knows that Harry knows he’s right. The more Louis thinks about it, the more it makes sense. If he tells his parents that he’s pregnant and he is ready to take responsibility, maybe they won’t act so negatively. If Louis shows them that he’s ready, he’s sure his parents won’t have any reason to doubt him. Maybe if he didn’t show that he was embarrassed about being pregnant so young, then his parents wouldn’t try to shame him for it. 

“When should we do it?” Louis finally asks. He’s still not looking at Harry, but instead has focused his attention on the patch of cat tails that are shifting in the dry summer breeze. 

“The sooner the better,” Harry says, “I’m already with you right now. Why don’t we just get it over with.” 

It seems too soon for Louis. He just found out today, was he really ready to share his secret with more than just Harry? But when he thought about it, Louis was sure that if he could, he would put it off until he was already giving birth and staring reality in the eye. He could pull a Kylie Jenner, right? 

Knowing that he would procrastinate if it were up to him cemented the reality that he has to tell his parents eventually, so why not now? If he does it early on, his parents probably have more time to process the whole thing, and he wouldn’t have to hide his symptoms or his growing belly. 

The sound of gravel crunching under the tires of Harry’s truck down Louis’ driveway call for a quick decision. So, before he could talk himself out of it again, Louis turns to Harry and gives him a short nod. “Okay,” he says. 

Harry’s chewing on the bottom of his lip in thought. He looks like he’s trying to think of something to say, something encouraging, but can’t find the right words. How do you tell somebody that it’s going to be okay, when you’re not really sure it is? 

The Tomlinson home was seated on an uneven patch of land that could serve to be mowed pretty soon. Attached to the gravel and dirt drive through, the concrete slab walkway was littered with toys, presumably from the younger of Louis’ siblings. It was quiet outside which, when combined with the hour, meant that his family was most likely cleaning up from dinner. 

The wooden steps up to the door were beginning to rot, and Louis has to remind Harry to watch his step when they walk inside. Within the walls of the home, it was louder than the outside let on. Phoebe and Daisy were at the sink arguing over who had to wash and who had to dry the dishes while Charlotte was sweeping the floor. His mom was packing away the leftovers for his dad to take to work tomorrow when Louis walked into the kitchen with Harry in tow. 

“Hey Momma,” he calls, “I’m home!” 

His sisters are the first to run up and give him a hug, “Louis! Daddy said you went to the doctors this morning, but Phoebe says you’re faking to get out of going to church!” Daisy whispers in his ear. 

Louis shakes his head, “Hush now, you know I don’t like when y’all lie like that,” he scolds. 

Daisy looks behind him when she notices Harry. Confused, she turns to her mother, “Momma, Louis brought company!” 

“Harry! To what do we owe this pleasure?” his mom asks, bringing both of the boys into a hug, “Can I get you anything? Are y’all hungry?” 

Before Harry can respond with any pleasantries, Louis cuts in. 

“No we’re not hungry. Actually, I need to talk to you and Daddy about something… alone.” 

No use in prolonging the inevitable with vain offers of all too-sweet lemonade. 

～♕～ 

Louis has never felt smaller in his life. Staring straight into the eyes of his father, seeing some of his own features reflected in the unsatisfied grimace, seems to shake him to his core. He feels like he’s five again, and he has to tell his parents that he failed his math test in school because he needs their signature on the front. 

Disappointing your parents is never a good feeling-- pair that off with the fact that the exact news that he was about to deliver would ultimately change their perspective of their firstborn son for the rest of their lives didn’t help with the sharp jabbing nerves that were pitting in his stomach. 

When Louis feels a gentle shove at his shoulder from Harry, he realizes that he hasn’t spoken in nearly a minute and both of his parents are still waiting for their son to speak. 

Louis looks over to Harry who’s subtly nodding him along. Internally, Louis just keeps reminding himself that he has to act assured, but he cannot help but feel that he’s already failing at the one strategy that could make this whole ordeal much less intense than it has already grown to be. 

“I have something real important to tell y’all,” he says. Before Louis tries to read their reaction he adds on a quick, “And real exciting, too.” 

His parents don’t speak, but their expressions rapidly change from worried to confused to skeptical. 

“I’m pregnant.” His voice, meant to come out with confidence, is completely transparent. There’s a shake in his words when he says ‘pregnant’-- like the idea is still new to him. 

The silence is resounding and Louis feels suffocated. His parents still haven’t said a word, but they have not broken eye contact with their son once. For a minute, Louis wonders if he truly hadn’t said anything aloud, but by the way that Harry clears his throat, he’s brought back to the unfortunate reality that it wasn’t anything other than the fact that his parents were _not_ taking this well. 

“And the father?” Jay asks. Her voice is dry, cautionary as if it was the only sentence she was able to manage. 

Louis turns to Harry, but his face is unreadable and stoic. Harry seems to be giving his parents the space to process their own emotions without being influenced by his reaction. It’s smart and probably something that Louis should have thought of in the first place. 

“Me,” he answers simply. Harry manages to keep his tone even, and emotionless, but it’s not Harry’s apathy that Louis is concerned with. Instead, Louis feels himself teetering at the edge of the couch, waiting for his father to finally react to the news. 

His lips are in a stern line, and his glasses are perched low on his nose as he looks between the two men on the couch. The most concrete emotion that Louis can pin down is his father’s discontent-- hell, if he is being honest, he can _feel_ his father’s discontent radiating off of the man’s body in overwhelmingly hot waves. 

“So,” he rumbles. Louis pinches himself to refocus on anything but the anxiety that is threatening to spill out of his mouth in the form of retched bile. “When’s the wedding?” 

And _what?!_

Louis looks so rapidly between his father and his mother that he’s beginning to get dizzy, “ _Wedding?_ What _wedding?!”_ he asks. 

Louis knows he cannot be the only one to have heard the absurdity that left his father’s lips simply by the raised eyebrows and parted lips of his mother, but if he were to focus on Harry’s expression he would be greatly fooled into thinking that he has imagined this whole nightmare. The younger boy is solemn and unperturbed as he nods his head as if this made perfect sense to him. 

“Sir, I intended to ask you the same. If you’ll have me, I’ll gladly take Louis as my husband and take full responsibility for our actions.” 

_And what?_

_Full responsibility for their what?_

Louis feels dizzy just processing the words so it’s a shock to him when his voice comes out scarily even, “You’ll _what?_ ” he hisses. 

Harry turns to spare Louis a glance, and he catches the man’s green pleading eyes, begging him to just _shut up_ and appease his own father, but Louis cannot just sit idly by as his whole future comes down crashing down in front of him. 

“Y’all can’t be serious right now,” Louis pleads. He’s searching for any type of escape right now, and right before he’s ready to scream he finds his own mother looking upon him with pity. 

It takes him a moment to catch the intensity of the emotion tied behind such a guilty look. _Empathy._ Empathy from a woman who had found herself in the same position just twenty three years ago. 

Of course she couldn’t help him now, because she was in his shoes when she had shown up at his father’s door twenty three years ago pregnant and unmarried with her father asking the same question: _“When’s the wedding?”_

Louis could feel the pressure closing in on him like a defenseless mouse lured by cheese and caught under the cold, rusted metal of an old trap. He had nowhere to go. He had made his bed, and was being forced to lay in it. 

“I-I’ll get a job. I’ll get two jobs! Please, I don’t need to get—“ the words catch in his throat like he can’t even say the word _married,_ “I’ll be okay.” 

His father has grown increasingly cross as Louis persists, and he looks closer to an angry eruption than his son would like to admit. 

“Louis, quiet down now,” he says with finality, “Harry, your father and I should get together to discuss the finer details.” 

When somebody is cornered into a wall, they become desperate. They’ll say and do whatever it takes to remove the bone crushing tension that surrounds them. So, it’s no surprise when Louis feels this exact pressure, that he _bolts_ out of the house. 

It’s a quick decision to leave that moment, and Louis doesn’t really have the time or mental space to actually think it through, so it makes sense that he’s left with no way to actually leave his parent’s property when he actually makes it through the door. 

He’s resigned himself to walking to where he knows he has to go when he hears his name being called. 

“ _Louis! Wait!”_ It’s Harry’s voice, and for a minute Louis considers not acknowledging him. But, Louis’ never been one to back down from a fight, so he spins around with his slender finger pointing directly at Harry’s chest like a determined bullet, ready to pierce his heart. 

_“How dare you,”_ he seethes. He does not wait to register the shock that’s spreading rapidly over the features of his face, “ _How very fucking dare you._ Where do you get off ? How _dare_ you,” he repeats. 

It’s not cohesive, and it doesn’t clarify any of the pressing questions that so obviously want to roll from the father of his child’s lips, but he presses on, “You’re _sick_ for that. For agreeing to something so sinister. But you don’t care do you? You get what you want, you don’t have to sacrifice anything because you can just walk away whenever. You can walk away and not get hurt financially or socially or - or —” Louis falters as he’s gasping for breath. 

There’s tears ripping violently down his cheeks as Harry stands silently before him. It’s true though— Louis is the one having this baby. He’s the one being forced into the marriage, and Harry? He has money. He can walk away whenever, he can move on without nasty looks from the people on the street because he’s a _Styles— rich, upper class, refined._

And who was Louis but the poor boy who happened to befriend somebody so many years ago? The boy his mother relied on to keep the family afloat. Well, not anymore. He was going to make himself somebody. He was going to work, and get out of this damn town with his baby and find a career that actually used his degree. And he was going to do it _unmarried and single._

_“Darling wait,”_ Harry pleads, he’s reaching out to grab Louis’ hand, but the smaller man jerks back away, “You know that’s not my intention.” 

The sincere _darling_ that slips out without Harry’s restraint brings back sickly memories from their night together. 

_Louis resigns to letting Harry follow him as he stomps through the woods further and further from the bonfire. He’s grumbling now, things that he shouldn’t really express aloud._

_“Fuck this stupid town with these stupid people, and their stupid cars, and their stupid girlfriends and—“_

_“Lou, we shouldn’t go so far,” Harry’s voice is soft, concerned as he looks at the smaller man in front of him. As much as Louis wants to argue, he realizes Harry’s right and they’re losing the moonlight to the dark brush of more crowded trees. So, he sits himself down on a broken log and chooses to turn his face away from his company in a feeble attempt at any type of solitude._

_“Do you really feel all that?” he asks, forcing Louis to look up, “About living here?”_

_Louis’ jaw is tight and unmoving._

_“I don’t blame you,” Harry responds honestly. Louis looks deep into his eyes before turning back. He doesn’t believe Harry. He has it made— a job lined up straight out of school, he got to go to his college of choice, he had his own car, his own room._

_Rarely did Louis allow himself to compare his lifestyle to his best friend’s— the Styles were kind folks who openly welcomed Louis and treated him like family. But, when he got into these moods, when it felt like he would give anything to just pick up and run off, he couldn’t help but envy the Styles’ financial freedom._

_“No really,” Harry urges, “Small town, smaller minds. You never meet new people— I mean, not that I’m exactly trying to and all but I just… I guess I’m just trying to say that I understand. I’ve felt like that too. You don’t get to experience life here, everybody is the same. You marry the person you dated in high school, you have kids— you know, nuclear family and all that.”_

_Under the sparse moonlight Louis could see the sincerity that ran deep within Harry’s irises. He inched closer to the younger boy on the log._

_“I always want to run away. I tried when I was younger, you remember? I told Gemma and she told your momma who told my momma. I was grounded for a week.”_

_Harry laughs so loud Louis hears a little snort at the back of his throat, “I remember,” he assures, “When Gemma told me, I went on and packed my bags, too.”_

_Louis scrunches his eyebrows in silent confusion, “Really?” he asks. He’s never heard that part of the story before._

_“Mhm,” Harry nods, “ I said ‘well if Louis is gonna leave. Then me too.’ I wrote a little note— I think Momma still has it, and I packed only my blanket and stuffed animals. Oh, and a little flower from my momma’s garden to give to you. I thought it would convince you to let me come along.”_

_Louis’ feels his cheeks start to blush at the memory of the different flowers Harry would bring to him, and for a moment he feels the need to mourn the loss of the one flower he never received._

_“Oh,” Louis whispers, unsure of how to respond. He looks down when he feels a warm hand faintly hovering over his own. In the midst of their story, Harry had inched closer._

_“I’ll be honest Lou, that’s why I majored in accounting. Because I told myself that day I would get a real good job so I can take you on away from here.”_

_Louis laughs, “Very funny,” he says._

_Harry shakes his head, “I’m serious,” with each word his body moves closer to Louis until he’s lowering himself just inches apart, “You were my motivation, you made me see there’s more to life than this stupid little town.”_

_Louis feels the air being suctioned from the deep bottom of his lungs. It feels wrong, and for a moment he takes in a little air to see if he could taste alcohol on Harry’s breath. As if that liquid were producing the brutal honesty that dripped so decadently from Harry’s pink lips._

_There’s nothing. For a minute, Louis tries to convince himself that he’s the drunk one here, and what the force pushing his lips closer and closer to the man’s in front of him is the a spiced liquor that never actually found its way into Louis’ drinks._

_But the hard truth is that they’re here, and they both seem to want this. And their desire is vapidly overtaking any semblance of doubt that what they’re about to do is wrong._

_“Were?” Louis asks._

_“You are,” Harry corrects._

_It’s the assurance that Louis needs to make their lips meet in resolved satisfaction— sweet and sickly… and comfortable in a way that’s foreign to Louis._

“Just hear me out, Lou. Now your daddy is adamant on getting you married. He’s real traditional and you know that. But Lou, I know you. You’re independent, you’re your own person. But you have to play the game right now,” Harry explains.

“The game?” 

Harry nods, “I’m not planning to marry you. But your daddy’s right about one thing. Our town is traditional, it breeds people just like him. So we gotta play our part, at least for now.” 

Louis' eyes are squinted, furrowed in skepticism and sick betrayal, “You’re just running your mouth, aren’t you?” he accuses. 

Harry shakes his head, “Cross my heart and hope to die, Louis. Go on, get your own job. Show them you can support yourself, and then we can call the wedding off. We’ll tell the church that it just didn’t work. You and I don’t work,” 

There’s a sapling of doubt that still burns in the very soles of Louis’, and it must be clear on his features because Harry looks to speak again, “We don’t have to do much. We’ll speak with a pastor, set a date, minor stuff so it looks like you’re into this too. The best thing is that nobody’s gonna know you're pregnant just yet. We keep it a secret, set a quick date. And just let it fizzle.” 

Louis looks away at Harry to refocus and think. It makes sense. It would hide the fact that the pregnancy was a one-night thing. They could play it as they were in love, they thought they were going to be together forever. It makes them _both_ seem all the more responsible. And in the end, Louis still gets to be his own person. 

He finally gives Harry a single one-off nod. 

“Well if it has to be that way, then this is going to be done _my_ way,” Louis says, puffing out his chest. 

Harry’s looking down at him as he eagerly nods along. For a fleeting second, Harry’s movement reminds Louis of an obedient puppy. 

“We’re not going to do none of that fancy stuff-- No wedding announcement in the local paper, no save the dates, no wedding planners, no cake tastings, no stuff off Facebook or anything like that. This is going to be quick and painless. I am going to get my job and I am going to work for myself. I am going to get my own place, and that’s that,” he declares. 

“Anything, darling. It’s yours.” 

～♕～ 

Louis wants to throw a big fat ‘I told you so’ right into Harry’s big dumb face. He _knew_ that he couldn’t be so sure, that the fissures on the facade of his explicit demands were starting to crumble. 

After they had agreed to Louis’ parent’s terms, both Harry and Louis agreed that the best course of action was to tell Harry’s parents as well so that they could start hastily throwing together an ultimately doomed wedding. 

However, when Louis entered the Styles estate the very next day, he was nearly immediately tackled by Gemma before Harry could intercept. And as the taller man had already gathered his parents into the family room to hold the discussion in semi-privacy (meaning that Harry and Louis both agreed Gemma was going to be excluded from the immediate announcement until they could all work together as a family to figure out the best course of action), all of their plans had gone to complete horse shit. 

It’s a spiraling ball of steaming garbage that was more and more rapidly speeding out of Louis’ grip, loosening his claim on any type of control in the situation. Harry must have sensed it because without another stutter from Louis, Harry blurted out, “Louis is pregnant.” 

He has never wanted to die more than in this moment. And for a second, Louis is sure that Anne and Des are on the same page. Louis can actually see the stages of grief pass through the couple in record speed until they circled back to disappointment. 

It’s a strange thing, feeling the isolating burn of Des and Anne Styles’ stark despondency. The two people that had taken Louis in and never treated him different despite being from a completely different world, the two people that trusted him and took him in like a second son, who invited him to their family vacations, who fed him and gave him warm clothes, who would take him too and from school when his own parents couldn’t. 

It was in that unfortunate moment that Louis realized just how thankful he was for Anne and Des. And what has he given them in return besides a complete slap in the face? Total and utter community shame and embarrassment to tarnish their otherwise immaculate reputation. 

Motivated by the overwhelming distress of failure and shame, Louis blurts out the first thing that came to mind-- 

“And we’re getting married!” 

That’s when Gemma runs. 

So much for painless. 

“Oh Louis you about had me ready to faint!” Anne chimes, standing up from the white leather couch. She throws an arm around Louis’ shoulders and pulls him in so fast Louis nearly falls into her body. Harry’s quickly behind him, hands by his rib cage ready to brace him, and it annoys the ever living shit out of him. 

He can’t even fall in peace? 

“Now, I can’t say I’m so thrilled and all, but to think I had just about given up on y’all! Now, we have to start planning for this wedding. Can’t have you showing as you’re walking down the aisle now can we?” Anne coos into his ears. 

Louis can feel the wretched shame from before washing over him again. How is this any better? He’s going to have to tell them eventually. And sooner rather than later-- before they start funneling money into a wedding that was definitely _not_ going to happen. 

“Now Louis, my boy, I have to give those parents of yours a call so we can start handling the planning and everything. And the church, we have to call the church,” Des answers, “If we explain the situation I’m sure Pastor John will be more than happy to marry you whenever we are ready.”

Louis manages to steal a glance back at Harry through Anne’s arms and he mentally notes the way that Harry’s eyebrows furrow in the utmost dissatisfaction and the way his lips are turned down in obvious disdain. 

Louis is an awful person, and an even worse friend. 

Before they go on with anything else, he needs to find Gemma. Over everything, she needs to know the full truth. Immediately. 

In a house as grandiose as the Styles Estate, one would think it hard to find just a single person. There were multiple bedrooms and baths that could total up to at least an hour of listless searching had you known intimate knowledge of the one person you were seeking. 

Louis, however, kows Gemma more intimately than any past partner and daresay he-- her parents. 

He could feel just how hurt Gemma must be feeling right now based on that alone. Just like he does, Gemma knows the darkest parts of Louis’ life. She knows the very secrets that Louis would never tell another soul. It was the type of friendship that whatever passed between them, they would take to the grave. And though they’ve been angry with each other on different occasions, Louis never once feared that their friendship would be over as a result. 

Now he wasn’t so sure. Louis’ kept something big from her-- major, and life changing. And not only that, she’s still under the impression that Louis and Harry are entering or have already entered a committed relationship without her knowing a single detail. It felt wrong, and vile that he could keep something so big from his best friend. And deep down, Louis wasn’t so sure how he would feel if their roles were reversed. 

The wine cellar is perhaps the coldest room in the Styles home. It’s dark, with the only source of light being purposefully dull strip lights on the perimeter of the floor and ceiling. It is just lit enough to read a label on a bottle and then leave. 

It was the perfect hiding spot and one they used often as kids. 

When he rounds the final shelf, Louis’ not surprised to see Gemma sitting in the corner with her head resting back and her eyes closed in a moment of deceitful serenity. Gemma makes no indication that she’s aware of Louis’ presence-- her eyes remain shut, and her body scarily still. 

The only clue that she may perceive her best friend’s presence is the slight parting of her lips in attempt to talk. It’s only then that Louis can recognize the sticky gleam of dried off tears. 

“Gems?” he asks quietly. 

“Get. Out.” Is the only response he gets. 

Louis looks around, scared and unwilling to carry out her request. Instead, he leans against the brick wall and slowly slides down until he’s seated right next to her. If he stays quiet long enough and allows himself to slip away, he can pretend they’re 12 again. Playing hide and seek in the cellar while Harry unwittingly runs about the house. 

Then they’re 15 and Louis and Gemma snuck away from her parent’s prying ears to talk about her first real date and how badly she wanted to give him a kiss goodnight. 

They’re 18 and Louis is spilling the details of their first time while Gemma hangs on to every word, elated for her best friend. 

“Gemma, listen--” 

He can feel an immediate loss of body heat followed by the sound of the little metal accent on Gemma’s jeans scraping on the tile floor as she moves away. 

“Are you deaf?” she asks. “It isn’t bad enough that you went behind my back and slept with my _brother,_ for goodness sakes, but now you’ve made the biggest decision of your life without me, too? You’re getting fucking _married?_ Just get out Louis. Just fucking leave my house.” 

It’s a strange, sharp pain that stakes its claim on Louis’ heart. The rejection of his best friend takes over his already fragile emotions with such severity that he’s stuttering for words again. It seems unnatural, the space between them. 

“Gems--” 

“Louis. Just. Go. Away.” 

Louis stutters for a second-- he’s unsure how to proceed. Does he keep pushing or give her space to process everything that’s going on. He’s lost and with his usual confidant completely shutting him out right now? He has nowhere to turn. 

For what feels like the thousandth time within just an hour, Louis cannot regain control of the situation. So he does the only thing he can conceive of, and silently stands up to walk away without another word. 

It feels much like a dog walking away with his tail between his legs. Though before Louis was certain there _should_ be nothing to be ashamed of with his pregnancy-- it was natural and things happen. And to top it off, before all of this he _was_ trying with great strength to preserve the attitude to criticize the very community that has condemned him to falsifying a relationship and _marriage_ to legitimize his child so he _couldn’t_ feel any morsel of guilt, and that his own shame was simply a byproduct of overthinking and small country living. Well now Louis _does_ have something to be ashamed of. 

He lied. 

And for no other reason than he was _scared_. He was scared of what Harry’s family was going to think. 

It’s a scary reality, that in just 48 hours Louis went from headstrong and independent to feeling crushed under the pressure to please two people he was not even blood related to. 

It’s overwhelming and blood freezingly real, the sheer amount of anxiety that was floating through Louis’ mind that on the way outside of the cellar, Louis almost doesn’t notice that he crashes into a warm and firm wall of muscle. 

Harry’s grabbing him by shoulders before Louis can react. “Everything okay, Lou?” he asks worriedly. 

Louis’ face must be a map of emotions because even without a response, pity creeps its way into Harry’s irises. 

“Lou,” Harry says seriously, “She’ll come around eventually. Just give her a minute to process it all. It’s a lot to take in.” 

Louis nods numbly, too preoccupied in his own thoughts to fully reconcile with Harry’s comfort. 

Amongst his thoughts, he replays the moment in the Style’s family room. The way he was so quick to lie to Anne, the way Gemma ran away, the tight squeeze of Anne and Des’ hug. It’s a stinging reminder of how much wrong he’s committed in just under an hour. 

Louis pulls away from Harry’s touch to look up at him, “I’m sorry I lied to your parents,” he whispers to just the two of them. 

Harry looks away, like he doesn’t want to remember the load of shit that Louis has them both in right now. It just makes the older man feel worse. They’re being truthful to his parent’s, why not Harry’s? It’s cruel, right? It’s not the right thing to do. Louis knows it. 

But he also knows just how scary the truth is. 

“It’s okay we’ll figure it out, Lou. Eventually we’ll tell them. But for now, let’s just focus on you.” 

Louis shakes his head. None of this feels _good._ Instead, it feels like a stone coffin lying directly on the vulnerability of his moral conscience. On top of lying to his parents, how could Harry so selflessly deflect and respond to Louis’ emotion. It wasn’t fair. None of it is assuring and Louis isn't sure he has the words to explain why. 

That is until he takes a good look over Harry’s eyes and he feels the one emotion that has been peeling at his skin since the very beginning-- guilt. 

He’s feeling guilty, and over more things than Louis is sure that he can count. Louis wants to cry and scream, to just _ask_ Harry how he’s not already sick and tired of him. Ask him why he’s not mad at him. But in the end it just feels like he’s projecting. And with the solid and unwavering look on Harry’s usually serene and kind features, Louis sure wouldn't get an answer anyway. 

～♕～

Louis gets the job at the new diner, Sunlight’s Diner, and he couldn't be more thankful… or exhausted for that matter. Louis’ father puts in a good word with the owner and Louis manages to snag the morning shifts so he’s still home in time to take care of his siblings after work, and although he should be thankful-- getting off in the middle of the night would suck considering he doesn’t always have access to the family car-- it still gives Louis’ mother time to question him about wedding plans and the pregnancy right before her night shift at the Piggly Wiggly. 

It’s his first time working a 40 hour work week, and while he’s at the diner, he’s well distracted from most of his outside problems, but nothing can sequester the constant reminder that he still was not talking to his best friend. 

It’s the longest that they’ve gone without speaking. Normally, when they are annoyed with each other it resolves itself within a couple of hours, even a day at most. But a whole week? Louis feels lost. It doesn’t help that Harry comes in nearly every day to check on Louis when he gets the chance. With his own work, Louis hardly ever sees the father of his child outside of the cheap and colorful leather booths. 

He’s dutiful when he comes, happy to bring Louis anti-nausea medicine when asked, and more than happy to share a coffee when their lunch breaks actually line up. Although Louis is thankful for the company, it reminds him that he’s missing the one person he wants to talk to the most. The one person who, so many years ago, promised to be there every step of the way. 

Harry notices the swift decline in Louis’ mood and his growing concern is becoming more and more apparent. 

“I was thinking about taking the rest of the day off-- Maybe we could have an end of the year barbecue?” 

Louis’ absentmindedly picking at the epoxy of the table top when Harry says it and his fingers freeze just before he can gather his thoughts. He’s skillfully avoided the Styles home for the last week-- be it for shame of his deception or the fear of facing Gemma only to have her push him away again. 

“I’ll take a pass on that one, Harry,” Louis mumbles to himself. 

Harry doesn’t look all that dejected. It’s as if he was already expecting that answer. “Well,” he says, “You can’t avoid them forever.”

Louis finally looks up at Harry in acute irritation, “You think I haven’t thought of that?” he asks. 

It’s all he’s been thinking about, really. How is he going to last _any_ amount of time keeping up this farce? Is he going to tell Gemma if they ever were on speaking terms again? Is he going to ever come clean? 

It’s bizarre to him, how easily he can lie to his own parents yet feel so sickeningly guilty over lying to Harry’s. He reasons that it’s because of his parents willingness to shove this “wedding” on him in the first place-- the lie would not have existed without their input. It’s too much to process, and Louis can already feel the increasingly familiar burn of his recurring tension headache tightening around the base of his neck. 

He absentmindedly puts his hand there, rubbing circles into his skin to soothe the sting. 

Undeterred, Harry continues, “Okay, then tomorrow. When nobody’s home and it’s your day off we can hang out, go by the pool, just relax, you know?” 

Louis watches Harry for a second-- the way his shoulders are slightly hunched and the small downward tugging corners of his lips all point to a frustration that Louis realizes he’s not yet come to fully recognize in Harry. 

He’s either been seriously neglectful or Harry’s been careful to hide his own emotions throughout this whole ordeal. It seems strange, seeing him in this new angle. Worried, stressed, and just… trying his best. 

It shakes Louis, in the moment, when he sees just how hard Harry is trying to make this whole hellish situation just a bit better for him. He’s taking the time to make it seem real while still making sure Louis is okay. The least Louis could do is indulge him, right? It’s not like he _hates_ Harry either. These last few days, through their sparse conversations, Louis’ come to know a different, more mature side of Harry then he’s used to. 

In the different shades of this new Harry, Louis can faintly register the familiarity of the younger and bothersome boy from his early childhood, while still feeling the refreshing wave of the responsible and dutiful character of his maturity. When all is said and done, Louis could have had worse for his baby’s father. 

A day together may be nice for the two of them to continue working towards a healthy co-parenting arrangement in the future. 

With all these thoughts festering about in his head, he doesn’t realize he’s nodding along until a heartwarming smile breaks across Harry’s face. 

It strikes Louis, when he feels a breath of adoration run from his stomach to the very tips of his fingers and toes, that it’s the very same smile he saw reflected in the warm glow of the bonfire just a few weeks ago. 

～♕～

Sitting with his feet propped up under a rolled towel, Louis realizes just how much of a toll this week has taken on him. With each twinkle of the dissipating summer breeze, he can feel the surmounted tension bleed off of his shoulders. 

His head is tilted to his left, away from the bright sun, and directly on Harry who’s feet are happily swooshing in the pool. With his hands behind him, propping the rest of his body up, Louis can see the detailed contours of his back’s muscles brought about by the additional physical labor Harry must have been putting in on his father’s job site. 

If he thinks hard enough, he can remember Harry saying something about working hands-on at the site after he finishes documenting and organizing the financial paperwork in the office. Louis hadn’t realized just how much Harry was putting in until now, when he saw the evidence in even the tapering of his waist. 

It’s enough to stir up a thirst in Louis that he’s not sure the glass of sparkling water to his right can quench. And though their current situation is evidence enough that he’s never been fully blind to Harry’s looks, sitting here alone with him leaves Louis yearning for the touch that now only resides in his memory. 

“You know, Louis,” Harry says, bud light bottle in hand, “If you think about it, next year we’ll have another person here. Splashing around and stuff.” 

Louis purses his lips at the thought. He can imagine it, Harry in the pool with their baby. A bag of swimmies and a diaper bag close by. Like every summer before, Harry’s dad would be by the grill, apron tied around his waist and beer in hand as the smell of their Sunday steak dinner wafted through the air. 

When Louis thinks harder, he can see Anne walking through the glass sliding doors with freshly laundered towels stacked in her arms, Gemma trailing close behind with a pitcher of (secretly spiked) lemonade for her, Harry, and Louis. Louis lets himself get lost in the thought-- the image of such a sweet tranquility. They’re all okay in his fantasy, no hard feelings over their lies, nothing but happiness for the little baby splashing alongside their father. That’s where Louis’ mind’s eye keeps falling back to. Harry splashing with their sweet baby, making them laugh and in turn making the whole family laugh. 

It sends an unfamiliar warmth down his spine that Louis can’t blame on the dwindling summer’s sun. No, it’s something deeper than that that Louis can recognize but chooses to ignore. 

Louis must be smiling without realizing again because Harry leans back and pokes Louis’ toes with a delighted smile. 

“It’s nice, right? The thought,” Harry asks. 

Louis nods his head absentmindedly, barely trying to shake the permanent image of Harry in their baby in the same pool that’s just three feet away from him right now. 

For just a minute Louis lets himself get lost in the delicate temptation of a calm summer evening with the Styles just a year from now. He doesn’t let himself think of all the repercussions that were fast approaching and for once he tries to let go of the weight of their situation. 

Well, _tries_ is the key word. 

“Harry! Momma said she wants to talk to you when she-- oh,” Gemma’s voice calls from the door of the backyard fence. 

When Louis has the time to slide his sunglasses down the sweaty bridge of his nose, Harry is already jumping out from the pool with large strides over to his sister. 

Before Harry can speak, Gemma is already glaring at Louis as if she is gearing up to say something snarky. Harry clears his throat anyway, “Hey Gem, yeah she texted me, I haven’t gotten back to her yet because I’m pretty sure what it’s about…” 

Louis drones out what Harry is saying once he deems it unimportant and focuses on what it’s like seeing his best friend for the first time in a week. Gemma’s gaze is one that Louis is not used to being on the receiving end of. Her eyebrows are pulled together in annoyance and even she looks like she’s not fully listening to what is coming out of Harry’s mouth. 

“Why is he here?” Louis hears Gemma ask. 

Harry presses his lips together like he was not prepared to hear his sister be so blunt. 

“Watch your manners,” Harry says, reminding Louis eerily of Mr. Styles, “He’s _my_ guest.” 

It’s such a stupid, overly vague statement that makes Louis want to physically roll his eyes. He wants to say _No, Harry, that's not what she’s asking, you dumbass._ Because what she’s asking is something much more serious. Gemma is asking why Louis is here, in _her_ house when she feels so utterly betrayed by not only him but _her own brother._ She’s asking why her brother would be so cruel as to rub salt into the very wound that is already so raw and new. And it’s written all over her face in a language that only her best friend could understand. 

Gemma looks away from Louis and back to her brother, “You didn’t say that you were going to have _guests.”_ She says the word like it’s poison on her tongue. And it is. Louis was never a _guest_ in the Styles home. He was treated like family. 

“Gemma, wait I--” 

“Just don’t even bother, Louis. I told you last week I don’t want to hear it. I’m going out,” she hisses. 

Louis sees her turn to leave and he can feel his window of opportunity closing. Gemma was seriously hurt, and by _his_ lies. It was _his_ decision to lie to Anne and Des about the wedding and it was _his_ decision to lie to Gemma and to hide the fact that he slept with Harry in the first place. Everything that’s happening between them is _his_ fault. 

Gemma thinks he made two _huge_ decisions without consulting the very woman he’s detailed every hookup with since he lost his virginity. It’s surprising, for a second, that she’s not more suspicious. This is the same woman that told him every time she had a UTI and so much as a period cramp. She’s reasonably hurt. 

But now, as Louis sees her turning away to walk back out the gate, he feels like he’s being viciously shoved in the corner with no way out, no way to save the one relationship that means the most to him until-- 

“It’s a lie!” he manages to squeak out before she walks past the threshold. 

Louis’ not sure who snaps up faster, Gemma or Harry, but Louis refocuses on Gemma who nearly chokes on her own spit. 

She’s scrambling for words, but it’s the first time in a week that she’s staying long enough that Louis can choke out a full sentence and he’s not ready to lose that opportunity. So he does what he’s been wanting to do for the past week and a half. He tells the truth. 

All of it. Including the way that Harry was _not_ behind telling her parents about the fake marriage and how Louis panicked and told them anyway. How his parents left him no other option, but it was _Harry_ that came up with the idea to back out of the wedding last minute, to graciously announce that they were expecting regardless of their “failed” engagement. 

In the end, Louis feels like he’s in between collapsing and exploding because Gemma’s face is unreadable. In his mind, even _he’s_ still trying to process everything he’s just said. He’s sure he sounds like a mad man, that Gemma is going to hate him regardless for what he’s putting Harry through right now. 

In his recount to Gemma of the past week and a half, Louis realizes just how many times Harry has saved his ass. Harry was the one to suggest agreeing to the arrangement with his own parents and to later break it off to save face, Harry was the one that played along with Louis lying to Anne and Des despite not having discussed it earlier, and Harry was the one that’s not held any of this against him in the slightest. 

The strange warmth that was present in his body just moments before Gemma arrived returns and circles it’s way through Louis’ body and to his very toes.

The unfamiliar _fondness_ for Harry as Louis will so refer to it as, is a feeling he’s not ready to acknowledge-- especially not in this exact moment. So, he files it away for later processing, most likely to swim back to the forefront of his mind when sleep evades him once again. 

When Louis refocuses his attention away from the tangent that his seemingly dubious emotions towards Harry have led him along, he notices that there is an unmistakable and inappropriate smile brimming on the corners of Gemma’s lips. 

Before Louis can question it, his friend has broken out into an obnoxiously loud cackle that shakes Harry enough to jump at the offending sound. 

She’s wheezing before she can get a word out, “You are--” she gasps, “ _so_ fucked.” 

Louis is on the terrifying border of laughing or crying and he’s sure he’s about to tip over the edge when Harry steps in. 

“Gemma,” Harry scolds. It’s much too parently for Louis’ taste. 

Gemma manages to compose herself before she speaks again, this time with just a bit more class, “I mean come on, Harry, be real. You know how they are. They’re going to be so pissed off. I mean you saw how excited they were yesterday night at dinner. Talkin’ bout how they were going to drive out of town to the crystal shop and get new china for y’all. The invitations and all that--” 

“Wait, _what?_ ” Louis asks. Though his mother has been pushing him to start planning their wedding, the thought of Anne doing the same with Harry was something that never once crossed his mind. And it seems as though it was a very major detail that Harry has conveniently left out. 

Gemma looks between them in confusion, unaware of her overstep. 

Harry glances over at Louis, still a few steps away from him and his sister. Louis thinks he can see a hint of discomfort cross over his eyes. 

Gemma looks over at her friend, features now ladened with just the smallest hints of sympathy. For the first time, she glances down at Louis’ stomach, perhaps searching for the slightest hint of difference in his body. 

“Gemma,” Harry’s voice responds. It’s thick and slow, like he’s planning out his next words carefully as to not upset Louis further, “I hope you understand how… _delicate_ this situation is. C’mon now. You’re being insensitive.” 

Gemma snaps over to Harry with an eyebrow quirked up in disbelief, “ _I’m_ being insensitive?!” 

From Louis’ perspective he can unfortunately understand Gemma’s frustration. Harry was not there when they promised to tell each other everything. He wasn’t there when Gemma secretly confided in Louis that she had kissed her 8th grade crush, Darren, right outside the upper gym floor, or when Louis told Gemma that he kissed Darren’s cousin, Joshua, in the same spot just two days later. He wasn’t there when Gemma spilled every detail of her first hookup over a stolen bottle of wine, or when Louis went on his first date and had to call Gemma to save him. 

The truth was that Harry wasn’t there when he and Gemma would spend Saturday afternoons planning out every detail of their wedding, from themes and color schemes to guest lists and dinner menus, to each other’s Maid of honor outfits. 

Harry wasn’t there when they argued over baby names. 

He wasn’t there for Louis’ first heartbreak. Gemma was. Gemma was there for everything, and for over a month Louis has kept something so deeply personal to his life a secret. He never whispered to another soul what happened with Harry the night their baby was conceived and now he was paying what felt like a hefty price-- he was hurting the one person that should have always been on his side. 

“Gemma, I’m _sorry._ I know I’ve said it already, and I know you have every right to be mad, but please, just hear me out. I never thought this was going to happen, and now I’m in a huge fucking _mess_ and I--, I just really need my best friend.”

Louis recognizes how vulnerable he’s being along with the fact that he’s opening himself up for yet another rejection by the very person’s shoulder he believes he should be leaning on right now, but all he cares about is having his friend on his side in such a tumultuous point in his life. 

Gemma looks as though she’s considering Louis’ plea, and it’s enough to give the smaller man a little bit of hope that maybe all _isn’t_ lost. 

“Oh you idiot,” she sighs, “C’mere,” 

Her arms are extended in an unmistakable proposition for a hug and Louis makes haste in falling into her arms. 

“Y’all are going to be okay,” she promises, and although Louis knows she can’t be sure, he allows himself to be comforted by her optimism. As she’s pulling away, her hands fall onto Louis’ belly, “Now tell me all about my little niece or nephew.” 

～♕～

As it turns out, having Gemma in on the secret is not as much of a burden as Louis, or Harry for that matter, may have originally expected. Gemma, fortunately being raised within the same traditional and gossip-heavy community, understood her brother and her best friend’s positionality very well despite disapproving of the long-standing and tumultuous lie and now she frequents Louis at the diner nearly as much as Harry, and mostly at the same time. 

From what he’s heard from his newly returned best friend, Anne has been in close contact with his own mother over the wedding details and has not yet stopped talking about the event since Louis left the day they announced it. 

“She’s immersed herself in it completely and if I’m going to be real honest with you, I think it’s mostly out of boredom at the house, but don’t you go telling her I said that,” Gemma warned. 

She’s leaning over the booth table, and she whispers it as if Harry isn’t sitting directly beside her. Louis is picking at the fries on her plate without much enthusiasm when he finds the energy to speak, “Listen, I know they want it to happen sooner rather than later, but the longer we wait the more realistic it’ll look when Harry and I break it off,” he answers back quietly. 

Harry grimaces at the thought, but Louis doesn’t notice. 

“I think the best thing we can do right now is to try and procrastinate as much as possible. If she asks for your opinion, Gems, just say you don’t know or that you think that I should have more of a say. And then my plan is just to avoid it as much as possible,” Louis strategizes. 

Gemma looks around to make sure that their booth is still remotely secluded. They’ve come at a dead hour, and Louis has caught up on most of his work-- the counters are wiped, the utensils are rolled, and the salt and pepper shakers at each table have been filled so he feels no remorse in engaging in personal conversation. 

“And how do you expect to do that for the next like… I dunno, two months?” she asks, “You’re going to have to talk about it eventually,” 

Harry silently nods his head to agree with his sister. 

Louis puts a hand on the little pudge of stomach, barely noticeable to anybody outside of their families, “Then we start talking about this little one, and the conversation is effectively closed,” he says confidently, “Here, Harry, try it out. Pretend to be your mom,” 

Harry scrunches his eyebrows together before relaxing and leaning forward in his chair to assume his character, “Oh Louis, sweetheart. Your momma and I were just talking,” Harry starts, three octaves higher than his usual slow drag, “And I just think that white rose centerpieces with lace accents would look so doggone cute, what do you--” 

Gemma’s laugh mixes quickly with Louis’ causing Harry to cut off mid sentence, “Hey-- Louis, c’mon now, don’t tell me you’d go and laugh in my momma’s face like that,” he teases. It’s half serious, like he wants Louis to play along despite how ridiculous he sounds. 

Louis quickly shakes away his laughter, “Alright, alright. Hold on, let me get a hold on myself now.” 

It takes him a brief pause before he’s able to gather himself and throw a hand on his belly, “Oh Miss Anne, I have to tell you. This nausea is just getting to be too much. You’ll have to excuse me, I do feel like I’m about to just pass out right here,” Louis breathes, rubbing his hand in a little circle, “I would love to hear more about it a little later, though.” 

Gemma is the first to react-- with pursed lips and a quiet and congratulatory clap she says, “A fine show indeed. Very believable, I would give it 80% on Rotten Tomatoes, though Oscar worthy, I have my doubts.” 

Louis finds her response acceptable, and reasonably humorous, so he turns to her brother. The first thing he notices though, is not a lighthearted and comedic jest like Gemma had given, but instead, it’s Harry’s eyes concentrated very obviously on the hand that’s laying still very openly on his barely-there bump. 

Louis pauses for half a beat before clearing his throat, expecting Harry to flicker his eyes up and offer at least an apologetic smile and half-hearted reply. 

Rather, what he receives is a slow, and reluctant look back up and into Louis eyes, “Does it really feel that bad?” he asks with concern ebbing into the corner of his eyes. 

It’s a serious question, one that feels like it’s demanding an immediate response. And even though he knows it’s not possible, there’s a part of him that believes from this look alone, that Harry would medically engineer a solution to growing pains if it meant that Louis wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Louis could say it’s endearing, but in reality the turn at the very pit of his stomach defines reaction more accurately than his flimsy words would so permit. 

Though it’s definitely _not_ the response that Louis was expecting, he can’t help but find himself satisfied with it regardless. 

Louis is thankful when Gemma clears her throat, nodding her head in the direction of a customer that had just walked through the diner door. Not willing to give his new boss a reason to complain, Louis hoists himself up out of the booth and towards the counter where the menus lay. 

“I’ll catch up with y’all later,” Louis calls back to them. Though a kind gesture, Louis’ pleasantry falls flat on deaf ears as the two Styles siblings were crowded together in an intimate conversation-- Gemma whispering quickly and angrily to Harry whose previous dark determination was quickly replaced with that of a scolded child.

～♕～

Louis’ plan works, better than he expects it to really. The next three weeks pass by quickly and whenever his mother brings up anything wedding related, Louis suddenly feels too sick or too fatigued to talk anymore. He’s resigned himself to his bedroom for most of the time he’s in his house for this exact purpose. Working full time now grants him more luxuries with this plan as he can now also blame a particularly gruesome shift on his rampant exhaustion. 

As he nears the middle of his third month, though, he knows that his parents are going to start pestering him soon enough. Up until this moment, he’s been able to mask any change in his body from the prying eyes of the town by chalking up his weight gain to overindulgence, but as he grows further along the weight is concentrating and taking form as a little pudgy bump. 

It’s nearly invisible, and Gemma assures him that nobody can notice besides him, but it’s something that Louis is growing ever conscious of. 

Things have gotten better, he realizes, when he’s rarely bothered about anything to do with a wedding. Rather than be worried about his mom cornering him at every chance to plan their faux-wedding, Louis finally allows himself to begin to think of the next phase of their plan-- their amicable break up. How they can convince their parents that they are no longer in love, but they’re staying friends for the sake of their families and for the baby. 

Standing in front of the mirror in his room, Louis has his shirt hiked up under his chin while he runs lotioned hands over his belly. Anne swore that a hefty slab of cocoa butter kept her stretch marks at bay, and well sooner was better than later. He’s hyper focused on his newfound curves that he doesn’t hear the high squeak of his bedroom sliding open. 

“Louis? Harry’s here to see you,” his mom’s voice calls from the frame. 

The pregnant man’s body jumps, quickly spinning around to see his mom and his baby’s father standing just outside his room. As his spins, he lets his shirt drop down to cover himself in hopes that he was able to maintain some kind of decency. 

Harry’s face doesn't betray his thoughts, but the look on his mother’s face makes Louis believe that his moment wasn’t as private as he would have originally thought. 

“Oh,” Louis breathes, a fresh tint of pink shading his cheeks, “Hi Harry.” 

Harry offers him a sheepish smile as his mother steps away, “Now leave the door open y’all,” she calls.

Louis rolls his eyes, “Yeah, because what else could happen?” he asks in saturated sarcasm, “He could make me _more_ pregnant?” 

Harry stifles a chuckle, but steps out of sight of the doorway to give them just semblance of privacy. “It would be a sight,” he adds. 

Louis rolls his eyes but says nothing. Instead, he busies himself with closing and putting back his lotion on the edge of his nightstand. Harry watches him do it with eyes deep in impenetrable thought. 

When he finally shakes himself out of it, Louis is perched comfortably on the corner of his bed, waiting for the man to speak. 

“Listen, Lou,” he says, wasting no more time, “I need to talk to you about something, but you have to promise not to get mad.” 

It’s an ominous warning that leaves Louis teetering on the edge of uncertainty. He gives a vague nod, encouraging Harry to keep speaking. 

Harry looks like he’s about to say something, but quickly discourages himself. He takes another minute, and Louis can practically see the fine inner workings of his mind, writing and rewriting what he’s about to say. It’s worrying, and Louis wishes Harry would just come out and say what he has to say. Louis wonders if Harry’s trying to sugarcoat it or if he’s just trying to pluck up the courage to say it. Either option leaves Louis in a puddle of sticky anxiety.

“So my mom told me that she’s been talking to your parents about the wedding and stuff,” he starts dropping his voice to a whisper, “And they know you’re not talking too much about it so…” he trails off. 

Louis watches as Harry starts to stumble for his words. He’s pacing now, refusing to look at Louis and walking around the perimeter of his bed. It’s making Louis dizzy. 

“And well, they’re making a lot of executive decisions like for dates and stuff, and--” 

“Oh my God Harry, you’re going to make me sick if you keep walking around like that,” Louis says. He reaches up and grabs a hold of Harry’s forearm to tug him down onto the bed, “Sit, please,” 

Harry looks thankful as he continues to gather his thoughts, “Well I’ll just come out and show you.” 

Reaching into his back pocket, Harry pulls out a small velvet box and with one simple pop of his finger reveals probably the most breathtaking ring that Louis’ seen. It’s a simple gold band with an oval diamond setting. And other any other circumstance, he would have fallen in love with such simple elegance. 

Instead, he looks up at Harry in confusion, “Wha-- Harry?” he asks. 

“My mom noticed that I didn’t give you a ring, and she’s been pressuring me to give you one,” Harry explains, “And I know it would look suspicious if I said no or protested and--” 

Louis looks shocked, “You _bought me a ring?”_

Harry purses his lips, “Well,” he says, “Technically no. It’s my great-grandmother’s ring. She brought it back from the town back in England where my family’s from when she emigrated here all those years ago. It’s what my grandfather used to propose to my grandma, and my dad to my mom,” 

Louis shakes his head, “No, Harry, I’m sorry. I can’t wear this…” he whispers. Truthfully, it’s overwhelming, the thought of putting on such a deeply sentimental piece of jewelry. Here he was, desecrating the sanctity of such a cherished family tradition with their sham “marriage”. Though he recognized Harry’s point, it _would_ look suspicious to their families if Louis refused to wear the ring. It was just too much of an insult and it would just weigh too heavily on his conscience. Not to mention that wearing a ring at all is not something Louis was all too sure he felt comfortable with. It made it seem a little too _real_ to him. How would he feel if he were walking around with such an obvious piece of jewelry. Surely their engagement would become that much more _known._

Harry’s lips are turned downward in a half grimace, as if he were disappointed in the response despite being already prepared to hear it. 

“Louis, please. Just for now?” he asks. 

Louis shakes his head, “Harry, this isn’t such a great idea,” he tries, ladened with guilt, “And besides. Things have gotten better, really.” 

Harry tries to interrupt with a shake of his head, but Louis stops him, “No, I’m being serious. My parents haven’t really been bugging me about the whole thing anymore and your momma hasn’t been saying much to me either. I think the whole thing is blowing over if I’m honest,” 

A cryptic expression passes over Harry’s face until he’s unable to maintain eye contact any longer. Louis notices that even when he exposed the truth of his pregnancy, Harry’s never looked as uneasy as he does now. Casting his eyes away from Louis’ for a moment of unreadable turmoil he clears his throat to speak. 

“Can’t you understand how _refusing_ to wear my family’s ring may come off as?” he pushes. 

Louis looks away then, too. He’s unwilling to relent on his opinion, yet he knows if he looks at Harry he will ultimately cave in. Harry’s argument is sound, and Harry’s already been so compromising with all of Louis’ antics. He’s sure that this seems so minor in comparison to the hoops that the other man has jumped through to keep Louis comfortable. 

“Louis,” Harry says, resting a hand on the man’s shoulder. Suddenly, Louis feels like the bed is too crowded and the hand on his shoulder is too heavy. He knows what he _should_ do. He should say yes, and wear the ring or even _a_ ring. 

When he looks back at Harry’s face he can imagine the way Anne had pestered him about the ring that still is clutched in his left hand. And though Louis has the perfect excuse to avoid wedding planning, he realizes now that it is not the case for Harry. 

“But the ring--” Louis says weakly.

“Can be given back at any time,” Harry assures. “I’ve already told myself the same thing. Please just… consider it?” he asks. 

It’s a fair offer, Louis bargains with himself. He doesn’t have to make a decision _right_ now. So, against his best judgment he relents, “I’ll consider it.” 

A peaceful relief that even Louis is sure that he can feel, seems to wash over Harry. When he looks down and notices that he’s still clutching the ring, he closes it once more and shoves it securely into his back pocket. 

“Is that all you came here to tell me?” Louis asks skeptically. It seems a bit out of the way, for Harry to just come down to his house unannounced and try to present him with a family heirloom. And the uncomfortable grimace that sneaks its way into the corners of Harry’s face seems to suggest that he was right. There’s something else that’s nagging at Harry’s mind. 

He seems to grapple to regain a swift composure of his features and instead he shakes his head, “That’s all,” he says. 

The usual tenor of Harry’s voice, Louis notices, has shifted up nearly a whole octave. And while Louis _knows_ this may typically be a surefire sign that that is not _all,_ Louis allows himself to fall into the delightful temptation of Harry’s deception if it means that he can continue to exist in the fantasy that his plan _is_ working. 

It’s cynical, he acknowledges, to draw breath in a world where he is not currently being cornered into a web of deceit against their parents, but to take form in his current reality weighs too heavily on his shoulders. For just a moment, no matter how fleeting it may be, he wants to live in a world where it’s all going to be okay. So he lays back on his bed and allows for the flimsy fabric of his t-shirt to ride up along his belly.

It’s innocent at first, Harry is sitting there on the edge of Louis’ bed, toying with the tiny hangnail on his thumb in welcomed silence. It’s not awkward between them, and Louis chalks it up to the sheer amount of time they’ve spent together in the last weeks. Gone was the previous stiff air that seemed to announce itself at every turn. Be it the guilt over their situation or the shocking reality that there was a whole other dimension to Harry that he had never bothered to become acquainted with, he had found-- at first-- that spending prolonged hours in the presence of his best friend’s brother was not something that he felt entirely relaxed in. 

Now, through their conversations over coffee during Louis’ breaks at the diner, he had gotten to know specific parts of Harry that he believes he had just ignored before. In the trademark Styles features that had originally seemed identical and lifted from Gemma’s face, Louis was able to find subtle differences that were uniquely Harry. The shadowy hint of a morning shave above his lip, the widened bridge of his nose, and rugged curve of his natural eyebrow all brought forth a new shape to Harry, one that negated any clunky and awkward relationship to his sister. 

Instead of feeling an underlying shame to the deception that their secret affair may have brought upon his best friend, seeing Harry with this depth severs the two of them so clearly in Louis’ conscious. Harry is no longer just the lanky highschool footballer that still hung around his older sister and her friend. He’s no longer the little brother that tried to sneak into his sister’s room when Louis was over. Instead, he was just Harry. The man who came after him that night in the forest, who genuinely sought to look after his wellbeing and protect his virtue in front of their families. The man who wants and is ready to claim their child as their own. 

For a brief second, Louis wonders if he could say as much for his ex. He isn’t so sure. 

It seems demeaning to admit that for so long that’s all he had viewed Harry as, but it was an unconscious error that came along with spending time so closely with Gemma. Though Harry was there all along, he is sure that were it not for that night in the woods and the baby now growing in his womb, he would have continued to make such a foolish mistake. 

In his thoughts, Louis misses the way that Harry absentmindedly reaches for the lotion he had placed down earlier and is quietly reading the label. 

“Does this work?” Harry asks suddenly, calling Louis’ attention to the item in his hands. 

Louis shrugs his shoulders, “Your mom recommended it to me,” he mentions. Lifting up the fabric of his shirt to just below his pectoral muscle, he takes the lotion from Harry’s hand. “I hope it does,” he admits, “Can you see any stretch marks?” 

Harry looks hesitant, like he’s not sure if he _should_ look down at Louis’ bare skin. It’s silly, Louis thinks, because he’s seen Louis’ body already-- more than once. From their numerous summer nights with Gemma at the pool to the very night that landed them in their unique little problem, the skin on Louis’ torso was by no means unseen. However, even Louis could acquiesce that there was a newfound layer of intimacy that came with the tiny bump forming under his belly. 

Without another hint of protest, though, Harry seems to make the decision to look down at Louis’ honey tanned skin. Though Louis’ sure Harry would politely deny it, there’s a hunger in the souls of his pupils that seep into the very atoms of his exposed body. Harry takes great care in expecting every inch of his skin, looking for what Louis would deem offending marks. 

The first time he makes contact with his skin, Louis almost believes he’s imagining it. It’s feather light, like he’s afraid he might hurt Louis or even the baby. Under the intense scrutiny of Harry’s gaze, Louis feels little prickles of unkempt energy jumping about the different planes of his skin. To calm himself, he places a hand over Harry’s and adds a little bit of pressure. 

“You can touch, you know?” he tries to joke, “They’re your baby too.” 

Harry leans in closer when his hand falls heavier onto Louis’ skin, like he’s trying to hear the baby move inside of Louis. “Can you feel anything?” he asks quietly. 

Louis shakes his head honestly, “No, but sometimes I think I do,” he answers. “It’s probably in my head, but sometimes I feel a little flutter, a little reminder that they’re in there.” 

Harry looks up at him with fond sincerity, “Really?” 

Louis only shrugs, “No arms or legs yet, so who knows.” 

Harry’s taken to dragging the tip of his finger around Louis’ belly button. It’s an intimate spot that connects Louis to their baby, and Harry seems to pick up on it. 

“Any ears?” he asks. 

Louis realizes, pretty quickly, that Harry is asking if the baby can hear yet. He considers, briefly, lying to Harry and telling him that the baby _can_ hear him, despite it being too early if it means that Harry would stay to talk to their child. It’s funny at first, the idea of Harry bent over his nearly flat stomach, cooing different words to his satin-soft skin as if it would spark a reaction out of their baby. 

“No,” Louis answers honestly, “But soon. Maybe by week eighteen.” 

“Soon,” Harry echoes. His eyes, Louis notices, have not left his belly. He’s hypnotized by his minute swell. Despite the door being left ajar, there’s an intimacy that Harry’s protective touch provides for the pair that lures Louis into a feeling of security. 

Harry reaches his hand from the skin of Louis’ belly to cover the hand that holds his lotion. Without verbalizing his intentions, he opens Louis’ fingers and takes the jar. Louis watches him silently with eyes trained on the way that Harry’s lithe fingers maneuver the jar and unscrew the lid. Louis spends time soaking in each of his fingers, their length and their fluidity. He watches the way he scoops up a generous amount that coats the tip of his fingers. 

Harry looks up at him with eyes that soundlessly ask for permission to connect his fingers once more to the delicate ridge in his abdomen that their baby has begun to create. It’s silly, Louis begins to think, because he _just_ said that Harry need not ask permission for such a gesture. Yet the more he thinks about it, the more Harry’s request seems _necessary._ He’s no longer asking for permission to touch or feel their baby, he’s exclusively asking the permission to touch and feel _Louis._ This, Louis realizes, is only for him. 

Harry’s touch is kind at first. He gingerly works his fingers over the skin on the side of his hips, careful to wash every inch of Louis’ skin with moisture. He works with upwards motions, tightening the skin on Louis’ abdomen and watching as the shape of his body changes under the movement. As Harry grows more comfortable with every touch of Louis’ skin, he slows his movements to small circles. He moves down, until he’s just at the fading protrusion of Louis’ hip bones. 

Harry has touched him like this before. All those weeks ago, this is where his hands gripped as he slammed his hips deep into Louis’ heat. When they were in the forest, and Harry had so fervently consumed all of him, Louis could only describe his lustful pleasure--the raging animalistic desire for _more satisfaction_ for which Harry so happily obliged. It pleased every one of his senses to see the way Harry gripped and bruised the bones on his hip that night. 

But now, Louis admits in the solitude of his thoughts, there was something… different about the way Harry’s touch felt on the bones of his hips. While the same famished lust that devoured him that night was still there--present in the way his body responded so quickly to the moment’s intimacy-- there was something else, something more poignant than Louis is sure he’s felt before. Reminiscent of the feeling that he got when he was sat by the pool imagining Harry with their baby, Louis felt a less than subtle wave of emotion rise through his body. It was hard to describe with complete accuracy, but the only words that Louis could muster up were those of intransient glee and elated restlessness. 

Simply, he was warm. Not physically, but emotionally he was warm. It was a feeling that he’s not recognized in himself before, but now that he’s experienced it he’s not sure how he’s navigated life without it. 

Harry’s watching him now, as if he’s trying to decipher code-- and perhaps he was. Louis was not sure what his face displayed anymore-- was he smiling? Or was he stern? Harry doesn’t seem to be able to tell either, but Louis hopes that he can at least _feel_ that there is a large part of him that is such inexplicable bliss. 

Louis supposes he can-- that Harry _can_ feel how happy he is making him right now, and he hopes that Harry feels even a percentage of what he’s feeling right now. 

With Harry still rubbing small spots on his skin and oversaturating him with moisture, Louis feels at peace for the first time in weeks despite the looming reality of their upcoming arraignment. He finds comfort in knowing that despite it all, he has somebody so emotionally strong like Harry on his side, on the same page.

～♕～

Working while concealing his pregnancy has taught Louis a few things. Like, what to do when you feel like you’re going to throw up while taking a customer’s order (the secret is to politely excuse yourself, saying that you need to check if the dish is available and then bolt as fast-- and as discreetly-- as possible to the bathroom to dry heave until you feel better) or how to suggest that a customer _not_ order cheddar cheese with their omelette because, _“Mozzarella is just so much better!”_ when in reality, the smell of cheddar actually puts you off from eating for the rest of the day.

More importantly, though, working _has_ been a successful outlet for most of his life problems there are times where not even menial drink orders can defend him from the stress of a wedding that he knows is bound to fall through the cracks at any moment. Though he _knows_ this, he can’t help but wonder what his life is going to be once they call the wedding off. Their parents would obviously be disappointed, but there’s something that nags him more than the threat of his father’s dissatisfaction. 

_Where would he and Harry be?_ It’s a loaded question that he’s not fully sure that he’s prepared to answer given the fact that he’s handling three scalding hot plates through the kitchen and to his newest table, but it’s still a question that continues to scratch at the back of his mind until Louis relents and considers it. 

He knows he can’t be sure. Harry would have to pretend to be mad at him at least, right? To make it believable, but what about after? Where does he fit into Louis’ big plans once the baby comes along? The thought of living in his house with his parents just does not sit right with him. Louis knows he wants his own space, but that’s as far as his clarity on the situation goes. Where that space is, who’s actually _in_ that space, and when he’s going to get that space is all in the air right now.

Among his uncertainty, Louis reasons that Harry _has_ been proving himself from the moment that Louis told him he was pregnant. Harry has shown that he wants to be with him every step of the way, and not just for the sake of the baby, but for Louis too. He genuinely _wants_ to spend time with Louis outside of their ruse. 

He reckons that it would be easier to raise their baby if Harry was in the same space as they were in. And now, they both worked meaning that it wasn’t completely out of the question to actually move out on their own. Harry has more flexible hours, and the opportunity to do his company’s accounting work from home if need be, so childcare would not be a financial necessity and-- 

Louis stops himself for two reasons. One, because if you would have told Louis six months ago that he was thinking about moving into a home in the same town that he has _despised_ for the better years of his life, he would have called you batshit crazy. And two, because the thought of living with Harry passed his mind and left him to feel his heart give a faint stutter. 

Strangely enough, this time it’s not something that Louis chooses to reject or ignore. Louis knows this feeling, the clamminess of his palms when he thinks about what it would be like to live together with Harry and their baby. What it would be like to share memories like a family, watch them grow and develop into their own people. What it would be like to see Harry and him grow. 

Louis knew he would have to give up certain things he wanted for himself when he decided to keep the baby. Maybe he wouldn’t get to leave the town as early as he wanted. 

But what he didn’t know was what he was actually _gaining_ when he decided to keep his baby. He has Harry now, somebody who cares for him and wants to see him happy. Is that not important? In his time with Harry, he wonders if the younger man has felt the same way. If he’s felt that he’s not only getting a child, but something more. A partnership, a support system in the form of an old childhood friend. 

Louis’ not sure where his revelation leaves them, and the old Louis would find this terrifying. The uncertainty of his future means that he is not in control, sending him into a tizzy of fret and self-destruction. Yet, now? Louis feels peaceful and assured. His tranquility, he knows, rests on the bond that he’s formed with Harry. He knows that no matter what happens, he’ll have somebody to rely on and to trust. Somebody who’s on the same page as him. 

His emotions are complicated, Louis can admit, like tangled threads waiting for somebody’s tender attention and affection to unmat their confusion. No, he’s not sure what kind of relationship he’s describing anymore, but he knows for certain now that he wants more with Harry than just a co-parenting arrangement. 

What to do with this information? Louis has not one clue.

He makes his decision while soaking in the steam of his hot shower. 

Louis chooses to do what he knows best when considering divulging on his emotional epiphany to Harry-- he waits. And while in the stormy sea of mendacity for which Louis has been floating these past weeks, telling the truth feels like a peak of sunshine that shows through darkened grey skies, he still skirts around the weight of it all.

Telling Harry that there could even be a _chance_ of something between the two of them feels like a hot and loaded gun, ready to set off a chain reaction at any moment. It’s heavy on his chest the more he thinks about it. In spare moments of clear mentalities, Louis knows it’s ridiculous to fret over something like talking about his more deep emotional feelings to a man who’s since bent over backwards for him and his baby the last few weeks-- that even if Harry truly does not want anything more, that it would be nothing more than a silly memory in the distant future. No hard feelings. Nothing will change. 

And if Louis is being honest, he knows _that’s_ not what he’s fearing. No, Louis does _not_ fear rejection. Not because he knows he’s _quite_ a catch, but because there is something far more terrifying that claws its way from his heart to the forefront of his every thought since deciding to tell Harry in the first place. 

It’s circunstancial at best, but it hounds Louis at every corner. If Harry, too, wants something more. If he wants to try something, what happens after? The reality is, Louis’ never had a _successful_ relationship. Every single boyfriend he’s had thus far, has obviously left. And before, Louis was okay with that. It was the normal life cycle of youthful love-- something to be expected, not feared. And in the end, when all was said and done, Louis only had to pick himself up and put himself back together again. 

But, Louis isn’t alone now. And he knows from here on out he never will be. He has his baby, _their_ baby, to worry about. If they were to try, and if things were to end, what would that spell for their baby’s future? It’s grim, Louis acquiesces, to plan the downfall of a relationship that doesn’t exist yet, but he recognizes that it’s the toll of being a parent. Somethings just aren’t about him anymore, but about the baby that he’s carrying. 

However much Louis considers the consequences of a breakup, he cannot begin to give credence to the possibility of a nasty breakup. He simply could not let it happen. He has known the Styles family far too long to let something like that happen. Because the truth is, he has long since been a member of this family. His baby may be a Styles by blood, but Louis is a Styles by heart. No matter what happens, he knows both he and his baby would never be deprived of their family. 

When he finally turns off the water, the bathroom is full of hot steam. Walking out of the bathroom with his fluffy white towel tucked tightly under his arms, Louis feels rejuvenated and full of purpose. 

～♕～

Louis tells himself that he’s going to tell Harry as soon as the opportunity presents itself, but as the world would have it, it doesn’t happen as soon as he would like it. At work, Harry merely is able to stop by to say hello and to inform him that his mother has invited him over for dinner that night before he’s picking up a coffee to go. 

It’s probably the shortest that Louis has ever spent in Harry’s presence, and in the wake of his departure Louis feels the weight of everything he wants to say drag his shoulders close to the floor. 

After his shift, Gemma picks Louis up from the diner instead of Harry as he originally had expected. Although not unusual, ever since the pair had remedied their differences, if Harry is indisposed and unable to meet Louis, he asks Gemma to pick him up so he doesn’t have to worry about finding a way home. 

They stop at Louis’ home so he can change, and on his way out he eyes the velvet ring box that is still sitting on his nightstand. He has skirted around it so long, and with all things considered, Louis finds little worry in grabbing the box and slipping the ring down his slender finger. With his newfound feelings, wearing something from Harry seemed a lot less fraudulent than it had originally. 

When he climbs back into Gemma’s truck, he notices the way that she eyes the ring on his left hand. She pales, though barely noticeable, and it strikes a look of confusion over Louis’ face. He considers, briefly, that Gemma is feeling the same way he was just a few days ago-- that this was too precious of a family heirloom to be treated as a prop in their ruse, but when he clears his throat Gemma’s eyes snap quickly back to the gravel of his family’s driveway. 

Louis feels compelled to diffuse the tension. Motivated in part by the anxious prickle that settles at the base of his spine, Louis clears his throat, “Harry brought it to me a couple of days ago,” he says quietly. 

Maybe this _was_ a bad decision, and Louis had behaved too rash by bringing it out tonight. 

Gemma gives him a stiff nod of her head, “I see,” she answers swiftly. There’s a beat of silence, and Louis isn’t sure how to fill it. 

“He’s had that ring in his drawer since he was fifteen,” she says, turning the wheel with one hand. 

Louis’ not sure how it’s supposed to make him feel, or why Gemma says this in the first place, but it takes a hold of his stomach with determined gusto and squeezes until Louis feels like he’s dripping in trysts of apprehension. 

“Oh,” is all Louis can muster. 

He’s spent plenty of time sitting shotgun to his best friend, talking about nothing and driving around the town well past curfew, and never once has he felt so tense in her presence. He’s sure that Gemma can feel it, too, if the shake of her shoulders is anything to go by. Like she’s trying to rid herself of some unknown encumberment, Gemma rolls her neck and reaches instead for the dial on the radio. 

Before she turns the volume up, she spares an apologetic glance at Louis. “Sorry,” she says, though Louis is not sure what. 

He’s about to implore her to divulge more information, but she quickly amends her statement with, “Let’s just listen to some music.” 

Her words feel synthetic, nothing like the genuine enthusiasm that Louis has grown familiar with for the last thirteen years. 

In that moment, Louis yearns for their car karaoke sessions, when he would lose his voice the next day screaming to different Carrie Underwood lyrics and reminiscing about when Taylor sang country. He misses when Gemma would turn the music up, especially when one of them was having a rough night, and she would scream alongside him-- when she would grab his hand over the console and they would harmonize over the pain of some boy who was never worth their time. 

He misses the way they could drive for hours, talking about how much they hated just about every goddamn person in their stupid little town. He missed, in their youth, sneaking over to her house after a night out so his parents never caught up to what they were doing. 

In this moment of unfamiliarity, Louis reminisces on the integrality of their friendship and the way he’s leaned on and continues to lean on his best friend in such harkening times. 

And when Gemma turns the dial, Louis can put himself back in that place. When she turns the dial, he can forget the nasty dread that continues to grow every hour that they continue to entertain their prevarication. He can focus instead on his place tucked safely in the car, rather than the complex string of emotions that circles around his brain and suffocates his every thought. 

When they get to the house, he notices that Harry’s truck is in the driveway, behind his father’s, and when they enter the foyer, his work shoes are placed on the floor of the hallway closet. It’s strange, Louis notices that Harry is home before they were, and he wonders how long Harry’s been home. He has to have just arrived, otherwise he would be the one leading Louis off to the kitchen. 

Anne is opening the oven when Louis walks in, and he’s hit with the delectable smell of buttermilk biscuits.

“Oh wow,” he reacts without a filter. Embarrassingly enough, his stomach gurgles at the scent in the air, “This smells delicious,” 

Anne looks up from the tray, “Oh Louis, you’re here! I hope you’re hungry, I’m just finishing up here,” she says. Picking one of the biggest off the sheet, she passes one to Louis, “Here, it’s bad luck to deny yourself food when pregnant.” 

Louis takes it without argument, “You’re too kind,” he says in between bites, “It’s amazing, as always.” 

“What kind of Grammy would I be if I let my grandbaby starve?” she teases. 

Stepping forward Anne extends her hands, as if to touch Louis’ belly. “May I?” she asks.

Gemma rolls her eyes, “But for me, she’d let me starve,” she quips. 

Louis nods his head and sticks out his hips for a better view of his little swell. Anne’s hands are delicate while they span his clothed belly, “Oh, you’re already growing so much! Not much longer till you’re really showing,” she says. 

It’s not meant rudely, and Louis has always seriously doubted that Anne has a rude bone in her body, but there is still something that twists in his chest when she says it. He does not worry for reasons of vanity, though he’s sure he will soon, but instead because he knows what is coming next out of Anne’s mouth. 

“Good thing the day is fast approaching, it’s going to get difficult to conceal soon enough,” She chimes. And there it is, a wicked reminder of their little charade soon to meet its demise. He can see Gemma twitch beside him before she, too, collects her emotions and tucks them away from her mother’s innocent eyes. 

“Momma is there anything I can help you with? The gravy, maybe?” If her voice was just slightly raised, Louis is the only one that notices. 

Her diversion seems to work; Anne spins for a minute before passing her daughter the ceramic gravy boat, “Oh please? It’s just on the stove over there needing a lil’ stir,” she says, “Lou, why don’t you take a seat? I actually have so much I want to talk to you about, I’m just about certain that we’re going to have…” 

If he’s honest, Louis stops listening. Instead, he puts his hands just below the small swell of his stomach, “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry to interrupt,” he says, “I need to run to the bathroom, you know how it can get.” 

Before Anne can react, Gemma’s head whips around with a knowing look. Louis tries his best to assess whether or not his excuse is believable or if he’s being completely rude, but when Gemma gives him a discreet thumbs up he’s sure he’s put on quite the performance. 

“Oh, I surely do. Just you wait… It gets _worse!_ ” 

And without a second to lose, Louis turns out of the kitchen and up the stairs to the bathroom furthest away from the two Styles women. 

～♕～

Louis would not classify himself as a sneaky person. Nor one, that sticks his nose where it does not belong. And after so many trips down this very hallway, he’s secure in feeling that he is welcome in any part of the house. Though common courtesy prevents him from opening doors that are shut, his moral compass does not discourage peaking through already open doors. So, when he hears the familiar piano rendition of _Brahms’ Lullaby_ coming from Harry’s door, he feels no shame in ducking his head through the doorway. 

He’s not sure what he expects to see when he makes this decision, but what he _does_ see strikes in him a feeling he’s sure he will never be able to shake. Harry is bent over a half-constructed bassinet, and the source of the music seems to be just a couple of inches from the man’s foot. It’s a little mobile that seems to belong to Harry’s little project. 

Harry is oblivious to Louis’ encroachment, and Louis plans to keep it that way for a while, happy to observe the future dad-to-be in his element.

_“What the fuck,”_ Louis hears Harry whisper under his breath. He’s holding two different rods that, if Louis were to guess, belonged to the legs of the bassinet. Harry’s trying to slide them together, but something’s not catching. “Dear _God,_ just _fit. Together.”_

It’s amusing for a while, seeing Harry’s usual put together demeanor crumble over the directions splayed out in his lap. Louis gives it a few more seconds to revel in the slow turning shade of fury red that begins to tint the creases in Harry’s forehead before he clears his throat. 

“Try turning the piece around and it may work,” he suggests. 

Harry’s body jolts at the unwelcomed sound. He physically spins his body around to look at who is addressing him. When he realizes it’s Louis, his face mingles different emotions faster than Louis can read them. He thinks he sees embarrassment and startlement melt away into a much less complex form of happiness and surprise.

“You would think the son of a man who owns his own construction company would be able to follow some directions,” he jokes. 

“Lou, I didn’t know you were up here,” Harry answers, just slightly dazed by the unexpected intrusion. He looks back at his project with a frown, “This was supposed to be a surprise.” 

Louis gives him a sympathetic smile, “Consider me surprised. When did this happen?” 

Putting the offending poles away, Harry nods over in the direction of the box, “Oh just this morning. I wanted to show you it tonight. I was driving in the town over to one of the sights my dad was overseeing, and I passed by this baby boutique-- I do think you’d love it-- and I saw this. I asked the sales lady what exactly it was, and she took pity on my obvious ignorance. She told me the baby is going to need it for a few months, and this one attaches right to the bed so if the baby cries you can just… I dunno, I guess it seems kind of stupid now, too early and everything….” 

Louis watches him, and studies the way that he slowly loses confidence in the story as he continues on. He’s not sure why, Louis is completely _thrilled_ by Harry’s story, and over-the-hill endeared by the sentiment wrapped up in every word. 

“It’s perfect,” he says. Without invitation, Louis walks up to the half-built bassinet and touches the plush grey fabric. The pad feels incredibly soft, and Louis cannot even begin to imagine how much it actually cost, but overall he’s so deeply obsessed with how beautiful in quality it is. It looks safe and sturdy-- state of the art. And Louis can just picture Harry so innocently asking the sales rep for their safest bed. 

Spinning on his heel, Louis gets down on his knees to where Harry was sitting beside the mess of separated pieces and wraps his arms around him, “Thank you,” he whispers.

He feels Harry press a hand to his lower back, “You don’t have to thank me,” he answers. The ‘ _they’re my baby, too’_ is implied. 

Louis pulls back to look up at Harry who has kept his hand firm in it’s position. Looking into the forest green of his eyes, Louis feels the pulse of emotion underneath his skin, begging him to say everything his body feels like he needs to say. With Harry’s eyes locked on his, he wonders if Harry is feeling the same way. 

He’s practically in Harry’s lap at this point-- what would a few more points of contact be, right? Frightened to push Harry further, though, Louis remains planted just beside him. Carefully and full of deliberate anticipation, Louis parts his lips. 

Harry’s eyes flicker down to the motion and realization followed by a brief hesitation, that Louis chalks up to nerves, fills his features. From the position on his back, Harry moves his hand up to the curve of Louis’ jaw, never once letting it lose contact with his body. 

Louis believes he makes the move first. It’s hard to tell once his eyes close, who pulls to who, but he doesn’t find it in him to care once he feels the familiar warmth of Harry’s lips against his. He easily floats back to their night in the woods, the way Harry was so delicate and warm with every touch, like he was careful he might hurt Louis. Nothing’s changed, Harry’s hand still rests warmly on his cheek, rubbing a gentle heart with the tip of his thumb against the supple skin of his cheek. 

Harry kisses like he talks, slow and with a honey-sweet drawl that makes Louis melt into a pliable mess. He makes careful work of opening Louis’ mouth with his own, dragging his tongue along the cushion of his bottom lip. It’s all so much, and Louis wants nothing more to give into every carnal urge that his body was pushing through his veins, but he knows what he has to do. 

Pulling away is harder than Louis expects, but he’s adamant on filling Harry in on how he’s been feeling. When he opens his eyes, Harry’s eyebrows are pulled up in concern, but his mouth has turned down into an unsatisfied grimace. Louis can tell Harry wants to say something, he presumes it’s about what just transpired between them, but he wants to get out what he has to say before giving Harry the chance to question him. 

“Harry, I --” 

“Louis, I--” They speak at the same time. Unsure of who to let speak first, they sit in an unfilled beat of silence . 

Louis is the first one to step in. “Harry, I need to be honest with you, about…” Louis feels his mouth go dry. How is he supposed to finish that sentence? _Hey Harry, let me talk to you about my overly complex emotions that I’m not even 100% sure you reciprocate anymore._ Yeah, he’ll take a hard pass. 

“About us,” is about all Louis can manage.

Harry’s face is cryptic, and Louis does not even begin to fool himself into thinking he can crack the code. 

“Louis, I think you should let me talk, first.” 

Confused, Louis doesn’t try to stop him. He’s not sure what Harry could possibly have to say. Perhaps he knows where Louis is going with this and he’s trying to stop him from embarrassing himself any further? Louis would rather be struck down with lightning than deal with that as a possibility. He realizes that he never really took this possibility seriously when he was planning on telling Harry. He foolishly allowed himself to believe that Harry would be just as willing to explore a romantic relationship as he was. He’s blindsighted by Harry’s reluctance. He feels himself mentally rolling his body over the coals of his ignorance. Usually one for over thought out plans where he factors in every single possible outcome, Louis feels like he’s been cast out onto the sea without a paddle. 

Harry moves his hand from Louis’ cheek much too swiftly to assuage any of the seedy anxiety that’s currently zapping its way through each of Louis’ nerves. He mistakenly raises his left hand to replace the very spot that Harry had just moved. Harry’s eyes follow the movement until Louis can see them settle on his fourth finger. 

“You’re wearing the ring,” Harry whispers. He seems surprised, even though Harry was the one that _asked_ him to wear it in the first place. And taking that into consideration, _why_ has his grimace-- the mark of somebody so _uncomfortable_ with the situation at hand-- not moved from Harry’s face.

He’s not sure what to say to make the situation any better. How does he look sitting here with Harry’s family heirloom perched on his finger while simultaneously getting shut down and _rejected_ by it’s very owner?Louis sure he could write a book on the worst, most embarrassing, fuck up in mankind where each page was just this exact moment printed over and over again. 

“Harry! Louis! Come down, dinner’s ready!” 

Louis’ eyes dart to the sound of Anne’s voice which seems to be calling them from the first floor. He’s quickly stuck between two decisions-- does he go downstairs and sit in front of everybody pretending that the most nightmarish exchange did not just happen between him and the father of his baby, or does he stay here and demand an explanation from Harry quite possibly making the already terrible situation even worse. 

Always a runner rather than a fighter, Louis chooses to hurriedly stand up and rush downstairs. 

～♕～

Dinner starts off fine. Before Harry comes down to meet him, Louis squeezes himself between Gemma and Desmond, leaving the last seat at the farthest corner of the table. Gemma senses that something is wrong almost immediately. She turns to her friend, a similar look of apprehension mirrors that which Louis had just seen on her brothers. 

“So, he told you?” she asks in a solemn whisper, away from the prying ears of her parents. 

Louis looks back at her, “You knew?” se hissed, “And you didn’t say anything?” 

Gemma has the decency to look apologetic, “He’s my brother, Louis. I can’t interfere with this stuff. Trust me it was better that I just stayed out,” 

Too wrapped up in his own grief, Louis can’t muster up the energy to hold the necessary grudge against her. Louis rolls his eyes. He can feel the prick of annoyance and frustration in his eyes. Quick to stop himself from causing a scene, he looks away from his friend and directs his gaze onto his lap, “You could have saved me from the embarrassment of it all,” he quips icily. 

Gemma doesn’t break from looking at Louis, “What did he say? Did he at least apologize?” 

Louis shakes his head, “He didn’t say anything at all. Besides, it’s not something really to apologize for, is it?” 

Gemma looks confused and ready to keep prying for more information, but is stalled when Harry makes his way into the dining room. Louis can’t help but look up at him, call him a sadist, but he’s sure that Harry is going to distance himself after all of this and he wants to take a good look at the future he just demolished in a matter of minutes. 

Harry looks frazzled. His hair is sticking out in different directions, like he had spent the past five minutes running his hair through the strands. Louis can imagine him pacing his room, trying to find a way to let him down gently later. He’s painful to look at. He’s a unrelenting reminder of the fact that not only did Louis just make a complete fool out of himself, but he’s now jeopardized everything. Every future interaction, shared moment-- coparenting or not-- was tainted by the chagrined moment in his bedroom. 

  
  


Dinner starts without the heads of the Styles house noticing the unspoken tension among the younger generation. Gemma and Harry both try to spare looks in Louis’ direction, but they’re met with his impenetrable silence and a steely gaze that refuses to lift away from his plate. 

“So Louis,” Anne says, forcing him to finally look up-- he wishes he wasn’t so polite, “Harry was showing me what he bought today, did you get a chance to look at it?”

Louis’ eyes shift robotically over to Harry, who tries his best to hold Louis’ gaze. He turns back to Anne anyway, “Oh I did, I was just admiring how beautiful it was.” Louis hopes his voice isn’t as synthetic as it sounds to him. 

“Oh I know, I’m just so excited. We haven’t had a baby in the house in _so_ long,” she chats, “And a wedding on top of that, _so overwhelming_!” 

Louis braces himself, ready to fake another illness if need be. He’s cornered now, though, it would be too obvious for him to use the same excuse so soon. 

Louis notices Harry starting to fidget out of the corner of his eye. What _he_ was so nervous about, Louis couldn’t fathom. He wasn’t the one having to deal with the direct line of questioning right now. 

“Momma these mashed potatoes are amazing,” he manages to say. Anne spares his son a confused glance, only made more cryptic as Harry begins to quite literally shove spoonfuls of bacon-stuffed mashed potatoes in his mouth. 

“Well thank you, honey. Same recipe as always,” she laughs. 

Louis thinks he’s safe when Anne reaches for the bowl of string beans. While spooning the vegetables on her plate, she turns to Louis again, “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re trying to do there, Harry.” 

Louis’ head snaps over to Harry, whose eyes have grown wide with fear. Louis can see it happening already. Everything is about to come crashing down in a mess of angry fire. Anne is seeing through their charade-- _but how long has she known? They’ve been so careful!_

“Harry here must be tired of me talking about this wedding all the time so he’s trying to get me to shut up!” 

Louis feels the tension begin to loosen. His knuckles, still white with pressure as he grips his knife begin to regain their color, “Oh, I’m sure of it. It must be very difficult.” 

It’s vague, and Louis hopes that his sorry excuse for a response does nothing to invite more conversation. 

It seems, though, that Anne is not ready for a lull in conversation, “Oh very. I understand how busy you must be now, Louis, so I guess I’m just lucky that Harry here has been stepping in and helping me plan away like the little busy bee he is!”

Louis hears gagging before he’s allowed to process what the _fuck_ was just said. He’s still, ungodly still as Harry clears his throat, swallowing the obnoxious amount of mashed potatoes he was trying to consume. When he recovers, his eyes bore straight into Louis’ and there’s only one emotion that Louis can process on his face. Unfiltered remorse. 

He can sense Gemma’s head snapping between the two of them before she, too, stops and whispers under her breath, “Oh _shit_.” 

Anne’s confusion is echoed in the face of her husband, who has yet to comment on the near-death experience of his son. 

“I beg your pardon?” Louis asks. His voice is sharp, crisp enough to cut Harry’s expression even from across the table. 

Looking between the two children, Anne clears her throat to speak, “I said that I was fortunate that Harry volunteered to help organize the wedding… is everything alright, sweetheart?” 

_No, everything is shit actually._ He wishes he could say that, but he was raised with more respect than that. In fact, it’s that very moral compass that is keeping Louis glued to his seat and not running out the front door without another word. No, he can’t cause a scene, it's impolite. And though he may have lost most, if not all, of his respect for her son, Louis still maintains his respect for Anne. 

Still, he feels the desire to bolt screaming in every one of his bones. It would be the simplest solution, to run from this confrontation and just pretend like none of this ever happened. If he had his way, Louis would erase this entire evening from everybody’s memories. 

Louis looks once more to Harry, whose eyes are wide and pleading following his mother’s interrogation. He obviously wants Louis to play along, to pretend that he was aware of this all along. He’s silently begging Louis to hold off, that they would talk about it all later.

Gemma’s eyes are shooting between the two of them, and finally it all clicks for Louis. She’s panicked because she _knows._ And Louis doesn’t know for _how_ long Gemma knew what her brother was doing, but it’s long enough for Louis to be struck with the emotional whiplash of their dual betrayal. 

He wishes he could say that he does it for Anne’s sake, and for the sake of saving face in front of his child’s grandparents, but he would be lying. And in the interest of limiting his streak of dishonesty, he will admit that he does not do it for Anne, but because despite everything that has fallen onto his shoulders today, Louis still has stupid feelings for stupid Harry Styles. 

So he shoulders the abandonment that now sits itself in front of him, and he gives Anne his most peachy sweet smile, “Oh forgive me! I must have misheard you!” 

Anne looks relieved, “Oh must be that pregnancy brain starting already, isn’t it!” she jokes. 

Louis simply nods his head, “Must be.” 

He can feel Harry’s eyes on him again, and he curses himself for being so aware of Harry’s moves. Louis fights to keep his gaze directed onto the glass of water in front of him as he knows full well he would crack under the pressure if Harry even tried to silently thank him. His head feels like it’s swimming as dinner drones on.

Time torments him as the seconds move through what feels like a thick molasses, enduring mindless chatter that he only half listens to. Gemma tries to direct the conversation away from Louis any chance he gets, most likely as an attempt at containing the fire that she can see burning Louis up inside. 

“... And then, the electrician calls me and says they’re not going to be able to come and fix the circuit, so they have to wait a whole nother day just for electricity!” Des says. He’s been going on about his day at work for the last five minutes, and Louis could not even begin to tell you what he had said five seconds ago. 

But, in a brief bout of confidence spurred on by his scorn Louis chimes in with, “Wow I feel bad for that poor family, it must be terrible to be left in complete darkness like that.” 

He’s not looking at Harry when he says it, but the implication is as heavy as if he were staring him right in the eyes. 

～♕～

Louis had an escape plan. He was going to help Anne clean for the appropriate amount of time, and then he was going to call… well he had nobody _to_ call. When he had stopped by his house earlier, their family car was not in the driveway, meaning that somebody-- most likely his mother-- was out of the house. Which leaves Louis with no way out. 

He could try to choose the lesser of two evils. He could choose to ask Gemma to take him home, who knew about _everything_ and still stayed silent _or_ he could choose to ask Harry, who created this grandmaster plan to begin with. Both options were humiliating and sting venomously into his pride, but he knows that choosing Gemma may just be more palatable at the moment. 

He has every intention to discreetly ask Gemma to take him home and then be stubborn and not speak to her the rest of the ride there. Except, as this hellish night would have it, as he’s helping load the dishwasher, Harry steps into the kitchen to say, “I’m going to take Louis home before it gets dark out,” 

Louis is mentally stabbing Harry with each of the knives that he is meticulously placing into the dishwasher after he says it. He knows what he’s doing, he’s forcing Louis into a corner right now because he can’t say no and he can’t openly express his disdain as nobody else in the house besides Gemma and Harry himself know how angry Louis _really_ is right now. 

Louis just really wants to scream… and then maybe bury himself alive. 

～♕～

As he expects, the minute they’re out of earshot Harry tries to get Louis talking. Instead of listening, though, Louis opts for walking two steps ahead of him and purposefully ignoring whatever Harry tries calling after him. He hoists himself up into Harry’s truck without another word, and physically turns himself toward the passenger’s side window so as to not look at the offending driver. 

“Lou, you’re going to have to talk to me eventually. Let’s just start now,” Harry tries once he’s climbed into his own car. 

Louis gives nothing but radio silence. 

“Well if you’re not going to talk, I am,” Harry pushes, “I can explain everything, I swear. It started out--” 

Louis cuts him off by silently reaching for the dial of the radio and turning it up so high that it actually begins to ring in his ears. 

“Louis! I’M-- TRYING-- TO TELL YOU,” Harry shouts over the radio, finally in a fit of frustration Harry mutes the radio, “I’m trying to tell you that--” 

“I know for a fact that you did not just mute Miss Dolly Parton,” Louis snaps at him. 

Harry spares an incredulous glance at him from the corner of his eye, “So you haven’t lost your voice,” he notes sarcastically. 

Louis glares at him, “I have not,” he snips back. 

“So then I am going to continue what I was saying,” Harry says firmly. It’s a commanding statement, nary a question or protest could be had, “This is _not_ how I wanted you to find out about all of this. After what happened up in my room--” 

Louis’ ears burn in embarrassment at the thought that Harry was really going to start off his sorry excuse for an apology by rejecting him as if it wasn’t clear enough already. Ready to save himself from further shame, Louis steps in. 

“Oh boo-hoo, you didn’t expect me to find out this way? What is that supposed to make me feel better? You know what, Harry? I just don’t understand you. I really don’t. First you try to reject me, and then I am meant to find out from somebody _else_ that you’ve been planning a wedding that I never meant to actually _attend?”_ he asks.

“Louis, if you’d just let me explain--” 

Harry pulls off to the side of the road presumably so that he can actually look at Louis while he’s pleading his case. They’re just off of mainstreet and Louis figures there’s about a five minute drive to his house, maybe 15 minutes by walking if he’s fast (and stubborn enough). Thinking about it deeper, Louis wonders if he should even see it as being stubborn. Does he really have to sit here and listen to an apology that he already knows he doesn’t want to accept? 

It’s a quick decision to open the side door and jump out, and Louis foolishly hopes that Harry won’t try to follow him. 

“Lou! Come on now don’t go,” Harry calls, hopping down from the driver's seat. 

Louis spares him a look from over his shoulder. From what he sees, Harry looks scared. There’s a fresh sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his eyes are wide and desperate as he begs Louis to stop walking. 

He relents, turning in his heels to look at Harry, “Why Harry? Why should I stay and let you try to fix a mess you created on your own?” he practically shouts. 

Harry steps closer to him and grabs Louis’ hand. He’s trying to pull Louis as an encouragement to get back into his truck, “Well for one because you’re pregnant and you shouldn’t be walking that far,” he says softly, “And for two because I owe you at least the whole story so you can make an informed decision.” 

“No Harry, I don’t think you get to explain anything. What I heard at dinner was quiet enough.” 

“But Louis--” 

And Louis is tired of hearing it. He’s tired of hearing what Harry has to say. He’s tired of hearing what other people think about him, about his pregnancy, about this stupid made up wedding. Everything that they have been doing, their little plot to build up a fake relationship in front of everybody, was always just a lie. And it’s not even a lie that Louis finds himself benefitting from. These are lies that they manufactured to make _other_ people validate his existence-- to validate his _child’s_ existence-- as if they were conditional beings only worthy of love to the degree in which they can conform to standards set by people in this town that Louis has grown to despise. Just the thought sickens him. 

“Harry just. Just fuck off, okay? I’m doing this my way from now on. And you know what? I’m done _sacrificing_ myself to make other people feel comfortable. I’ll see you in a couple of months. At the hospital.” Louis doesn’t mean it. And he regrets it the moment it comes out, but he’s been taken over by his hideous pride that has fought tooth and nail the entire night to rear its ugly head.

As Louis walks on the side of the road, he works hard not to spare a glance back at Harry, who he can feel is staring at him, watching him walk away. He’s left, during his walk, with the last of their conversation swirling through his mind. And though he may regret telling Harry to fuck off for the next six months or so, he does not regret standing his ground and sticking up for himself. Sure, he’s embarrassed and he’s made himself a fool in front of Harry, but this is his reality now, and he’s going to have to just accept it. 

He and Harry were just not going to be together. Louis has to just convince himself that it’s for the best anyway; that they were destined to fail from the beginning.

And In the ash and destruction of his humiliation, Louis swallows the fact that there is no chance of resurrection. All around him the vision he had grown to anticipate-- the future he had curated with Harry in his mind, where there was a chance for them and their child has crashed down before him in the matter of mere hours.

Gone were the visions of he and Harry raising this child together, and now horrific scenarios of alternate holidays and strenuous legal battles take their place. Everything he didn’t want for his child stands right before him, taunting him with its reality the entire walk home. 

～♕～

Louis struggles. The problem, though, is not that Louis struggles, but the fact that he struggles in a very different way than he had originally thought possible. When Louis got home that night, he was sure he was going to go through the same cycle of desolate dejection that he felt when Gemma had shut him out for nearly a week. He was ready for it, he prepared himself to miss his best friend again. Louis has gone through breakups, too, and although he and Harry were never actually together, he had expected it all to feel quite similar. 

Perhaps it’s the fact that he is simultaneously losing two of the closest people in his life thus far, the only people that actually _know_ the full truth about his pregnancy and the “fake” wedding for that matter, that makes the sorrow so incredibly powerful that it locks Louis in its relentless grasp, cycling him through days so robotically that Louis is not even sure what day is Friday and what day is Tuesday. 

He’s so devastatingly lonely and lost that his skin begins to reflect every single fit of emotion that plows its way into his weakened heart. His skin has lost what his mother had called his “pregnancy glow” and has taken on a sickly pale hue. The bottoms of his eyes were always red from the strain of holding back tears that he refused to let fall.

He bullies himself mentally because he’s sure he seems so impossibly dramatic, but the truth is that he’s never had to face something like this alone. Through every heartbreak, Gemma was _there._ She was carrying him along, cheering him up and encouraging him to go out and do better for himself. When she was gone those weeks ago, Louis wasn’t alone either. He had Harry, his shoulder to cry on every time he felt the painful twist of missing his best friend. 

For the first time in thirteen years, he’s truly alone. 

  
  


It’s been a little over a week now with no contact from either of them. Louis knows this is what he asked for. He _told_ Harry he didn’t want to see him, but he can’t help but burn in the temptation to call him every time his thumb hovers over the contact information in his phone. 

It happens more often than he would like to admit. 

Louis knows, deep down, that he’ll have to talk to them eventually. With his baby on the way, Harry and Gemma _both_ are destined to be involved in his baby’s life, but will everything ever truly be the picture perfect scene Louis had set in his head so many times before? He’s not sure. 

The only brief respite that Louis is allowed comes in the form of 8 hour shifts at the diner. When business picks up, he’s able to force himself to repeat orders in his mind, stopping him from hyperfocusing on his emotional turmoil. Tonight, thankfully, is quite busy even for a Friday night. 

As this has become his only break, Louis has begun covering more shifts, including the night hours that he used to avoid. Typically, on these days, Louis has been catching rides with coworkers when he doesn’t have access to his family’s car. It encourages Louis to look for his own car, now that he’s making his own money. It makes practical sense too, in terms of the baby. They’ll need to get around someway or another. Today, though, everybody made the unfortunate plan to go out after work to their town’s little dive bar and rather than make excuses the whole night on why he isn’t drinking, Louis resolves himself to finding his own way home. 

Louis is the last one to leave, tasked with the duty to lock up and count the drawers for his boss. It’s around 11:30 before he actually leaves, and it’s much later than he feels comfortable with. He considers calling the house-- everybody has to be home by now, right? He can only imagine the scolding he’s going to receive for calling the landline so late into the night, but he can’t really think of any other option. 

He’s got one foot in the parking lot when he actually notices him. Well, actually he notices his truck first-- the same truck that he left on the side of the road about a week ago. The thought of Harry being here sends an unwelcomed, yet familiar rush to his head. Even after all this pain, Louis still can’t shake his feelings for the man currently climbing out of his truck. 

Louis should be angry, mad that Harry wasn’t giving him the space that he specifically asked for, but the hard truth is that the sight of him makes Louis just want to cry. Every single thought, every waking moment away from Harry was unnecessary self-inflicted pain that deep down, he knows he was too prideful to admit. 

His mind, ever engaged in a bloody battle with his heart, is screaming at Louis to turn him away. It’s throwing the events of their dinner right at the forefront of his mind, dredging up the raw betrayal from the last time they were this close to one another. 

He wants to give into his heart, to play into the fantasy that seems to be playing out before him where the boy comes and makes a grand-gesture apology and everything is okay again, but Louis _knows_ that’s not real, that it can’t happen to him. What Harry, and Gemma for that matter, did to him was so wholly _wrong_ that just showing up to surprise Louis wasn’t enough. He needs not to be swept up in that fantasy, and protect himself and his child. 

They’re standing across from each other now, like an old-western style duel where each one is too afraid to make a move. 

“Louis,” Harry says, taking a step forward, “I’m sorry, I know you said to stay away, but I _just…_ I needed to see you. I couldn’t help myself. I need to talk to you,” 

“What is there to say?” Louis asks. It’s not exactly the most respectful way he could have worded the question, but he’s sure he gets his point across. It seems astute-- Louis is still angry at Harry for what he did and he’s still hurt from his rejection _despite_ how excited seeing Harry before him may make him feel. 

“I need you to just hear me out, the whole time, with no interruptions. Please Louis?” he asks. 

Louis nods his head in assent, but keeps a cool demeanor even when Harry’s eyes soften with relief. 

“Do you want to come sit in my truck? So we can talk?” 

Louis thinks about what that would entail-- sitting in such proximity, with the doors closed. It’s too much confinement, more than he’s able to trust himself with. He’s already struggling to keep his distance from Harry as it is. 

“No, you can talk to me out here,” Louis answers. 

Harry tries his hardest not to look put off by Louis' denial and their excessive twelve foot distance, “Okay well… I guess I’ll start off by telling you that this wasn’t all some big elaborate scheme. It really did start off by me wanting to help you out with your parents, but then my mom kept on bugging me to get on top of everything with you and to ask you all these opinions on the wedding but I already knew you weren’t going to participate. So I started just giving my own opinions, and then it just kind of fell into me organizing it all with her, and well I thought that if I could plan you a beautiful wedding, maybe you would just kind of… I don’t know? Go along with it? I didn’t really think that far ahead--” 

“I can tell,” Louis cuts in sarcastically. He feels like he’s being overloaded with information that his brain is struggling to process. He’s stuck with one lingering question that just does not seem to have a solution-- _If Harry was going to reject him anyway, why would he want to get married for real?_

The only logical reasoning that Louis could fathom was because Harry, too, fell down the same tunneled hole of thinking that his parents were still digging their way through-- he was embarrassed to have a bastard child. It brings Louis back to feeling like he and his child are a burden-- _conditionally_ loved beings meant to be made a mockery of if they didn’t _actually_ get married. 

He can feel a prick of annoyance festering under his skin at the thought, ready to grow into the angry monster that he had to tame just a week ago. 

Harry ignores him and continues anyway, “It was stupid, all of it and I really regret it. I fell really easily into the fantasy of planning it all. It was wrong, I know and I’m so _so_ sorry. And then, when I realized what you were fixing to say up in my bedroom. I couldn’t let you say it without knowing everything. I want to do right by you--” 

“A little too late for that, wasn’t it?” Louis asks bitterly. 

“Lou, can’t you see what I’m trying to tell you? Gosh Lou, I’m _in love with you._ I have been since I was a kid, and when I saw the opportunity to plan something that I’ve been dreaming about since I knew what love was, I took it, and it was _wrong_ and I’m sorry,” Harry answers. 

Louis shakes his head, unwilling to believe the words that he’s hearing. It’s fake-- all of it’s fake, and it feels like a pity confession, like Harry trying to salvage his feelings, “Don’t you make fun of me now, Harry,” he seethes.

“Lou, darling, you can’t be serious. You’ve been well aware about how I feel for you, have been since you were young too,” he tries to reason. He tries to take a step forward and close the space in between him, but Louis is quick to retreat back until he’s nearly pressed against the door of the diner. 

“No, Harry. Don’t even try that with me. You may have had a crush when you were younger, but nobody does this to somebody they truly love. You’re mistaken,” Louis says. It stings now, hearing the very words Louis had dreamed of Harry saying all those nights ago, because under different circumstances Louis would have been elated. Now? Now he only feels _cheated._

“Louis, I’m serious, I want to do right by you, by our baby. I couldn’t keep on lying to you, or keeping the whole truth from you. If there’s a chance for us, I want it to be made on a strong foundation. For our sake and their’s,” Harry begs. 

“I wanted to do it my way, I’ve wanted to do it from the start, when my dad told me that I had to marry you. My first response was… well it was to resist. And I thought in so many moments, after you had suggested that we just pretend to be engaged, that you were actually on my side. That somebody believed in me, believed in the future that I wanted for us. And then you turned out to be just like them, you went behind my back and tried to plan my life, and I… Well I was tired of playing that polite, follow-the-rules-until-you-can-make-it-on-your-own role.” His voice is shaking, a clear indication of his brain-rattling vulnerability. 

“I know and I’m sorry, I can’t say it enough, but I need you to realize that my biggest regret is breaking that trust you had for me. I never wanted to be that person to you,” Harry responds. 

“But you _were,_ Harry. The minute you tried planning a future that never belonged to you, you were that person. I thought I had feelings for you, but I was so enamored with who I thought you were-- a partner, an equal, a father-- that I wanted to try and create an actual future with you. For us and for our baby. And then I had to find out from your mother who you really were.” He’s not sure how he’s able to keep from breaking down anymore, but he finds strength in knowing that although it’s what’s hurting him now, it’s what’s best for him and his child in their future. 

“Louis, I promise I never changed, every single moment we spent together was truly me,” He argues. 

“Harry, how could it be if you lied to my face like that? How you got your sister, _my best friend,_ to lie for you too?!” he cries out. Louis is thankful that they are doing this far away from the ears of their families, it’s a few less people to worry about disappointing right now . 

“Because my feelings for you were _always_ true. They always have been, and you should know that from the beginning. Before our kiss, before the pregnancy, before that night in the park, Lou. Since I was _little_ my feelings have always been true-- why can’t you understand that?” he asks. 

“Because it wasn’t love, Harry. It was an infatuation, Harry. You were a little kid.” 

“No Louis, you don’t get to tell me how _I_ feel for you. I fucked up, I get it, but everything else? That was my _real_ self. Everything I did, I thought of you. Do you think I wanted to lie to everybody about something I have been dreaming about since I was like… fuck, like five?! No, but if it kept you safe and it kept you happy that’s what I was going to do. I got carried away, hearing my mother plan everything. I couldn’t help but offer to help and it just evolved from there. And don’t you bring Gemma into this. She’s kicking herself over this whole thing,” he states. Louis can tell Harry is getting increasingly frustrated, and he wonders if Harry, too, had expected him to fall into his arms like he had wanted to in the beginning. 

“Yeah, well--” 

“No, I let you speak, now it’s my turn, Louis. She regrets it all even though she _begged_ me from the moment you were practicing your speech to brush off our parents’ incessant nagging to tell you the truth. That day, she told me that she wasn’t going to pretend that I wasn’t doing it. It was my own damn fault that I didn’t,” he admits. 

Louis will admit that hearing that douses his body in consolation. Gemma _had_ been on his side, even if it had been misdirected. 

When Louis doesn’t respond Harry takes a step towards Louis again, “Lou, sweetheart, this week has been hell. I can’t stop thinking about you, worrying about you and the baby. I feel so awful about how I hurt you, and I know nothing is going to change overnight, but I also-- I don’t know what I’m even trying to say anymore, I just want things between us to be okay again. It doesn’t have to be anything serious Louis, but I feel so many things for you, and I’ve felt this way for way too long to ignore it anymore. Please, Louis. Can we try this again? Full honesty and everything?” he asks. 

Louis takes in the scene in front of him as level-headedly as he possibly can. As much as he initially, wants to believe that Harry is still lying to excuse himself from having to confront his real feelings and the mess that is about to ensure for their families if they do choose to try and reconcile everything, what Harry is saying _feels_ honest. And when it all comes down the fine wire of it all, Louis _still_ feels an immeasurable pull to Harry. 

Louis tips his chin up just slightly, he knows what he has to say. 

“I have my conditions,” he says finally. 

“Anything,” Harry is quick to oblige. 

“First off, I don’t want to marry you. And we’re going to tell our parents that, especially yours. I don’t want to live a lie anymore, or bring my child into this world like that. They’re already going to have to deal with the fact that people, especially their grandparents, are going to look down on them for simply existing outside of a marriage,” Louis states. 

Harry nods along with him, “I figured,” he assents. 

“And secondly, I want things to go slow between us. I care about you deeply Harry, but there’s still so much for us to work through. You can’t expect me to forget that all of this happened, just in one night,” he continues. 

“I promise, darling, anything you need at any pace you need,” he assures. 

“Harry I truthfully, don’t regret making this baby, and I really hope you don’t either, but either way I am going to make sure that they never feel like they were a mistake.”

Harry looks at him, face entirely crestfallen, “Louis, I-” he stutters, “I would never regret our baby. I told you from the beginning that I am ready to take responsibility and to love this child with all that I am, _please_ never doubt that.” 

Louis looks away from him, down to the grease stained canvas of his work shoes. He can’t find it in him to verbalize that _this_ was his biggest fear. That Harry had grown to resent their baby and what it meant for his and even his family’s image.

Harry must be able to tell what Louis is mulling over in his mind because before he knows it, his body is being pulled into an excruciatingly tight squeeze. Louis doesn’t resist, he lets himself fall into the embrace. He soaks up the sensation of Harry’s touch, one he didn’t realize he was so fiercely missing. 

“Listen to me, Lou, baby,” he whispers into Louis’ ear, “I would never think ill of my child.” 

Louis nods against his chest, readily believing his passionate confession. 

“And,” Harry says. He pulls away and takes Louis’ chin between his thumb and his forefinger so that he can’t turn away, “ _We_ are family, do you hear me?” he asks. 

Louis just nods his head, too afraid to speak in a warbly voice. 

Harry looks over his face, drinking in his every feature until he lands on Louis’ lips. With his chin still in Harry’s hand, he feels Harry tip his neck back. Following his lead, Louis closes his eyes and waits patiently until he feels the gentle press of Harry’s lips on top of his own. 

Their kiss is not feverish and hungry with desire like it was in the woods, nor was it seductive and as tasteful as their kiss in Harry’s bedroom. This kiss is gentle and repairing, and when they part it leaves the sweetest promise of more kisses to come. 

“Let’s go home,” is all Harry says before guiding him back to his truck. 

～♕～

Harry, of course, follows through on every one of Louis’ conditions starting with breaking the truth to both of their parents. 

Though Gemma is relieved to reconcile with her best friend, their families are mad. But, nobody can stay mad forever, can they? Especially not when they peer into the face of young Oliver Phillip Styles, born May 25th weighing 7lbs. 4 oz, the most strikingly beautiful baby boy they’ve ever seen. 

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think?
> 
> & come say hi on twitter. @snowcaplou


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